Coffee Cart Chivalry
by DistantDaydreamer
Summary: Because he always wanted to be a knight. Spencer/OC, will make much more sense if you've read Ivanhoe.
1. Chapter 1 First Steps

"You know, it's about time they put a coffee cart in the Bureau." Morgan says the words with a smile as he gets in line behind the two agents ahead of him and Spencer. Spencer stands beside him rather than behind.

"Well the security risks are most likely why; anyone who works here would have to be as thoroughly vetted as any agent, maybe more. It'd be an ideal way to get an incendiary device past security." Spencer blinks when Morgan looks at him with disgust. "What?"

"I don't even know why I bother with small talk. What I mean is, any coffee made in any coffeepot in this building automatically tastes like week old cop coffee." One of the agents in front of him, a woman in a dark pantsuit, unsuccessfully tries to muffle a chuckle and Morgan gives her a once-over before deciding to make contact.

"You know what I'm talking about, Miss?" The woman turns around and it's his turn to blink. Thick black hair surrounding her face, light brown skin, big brown eyes framed by black glasses and a pink mouth with upturned corners. Unfortunately for him, she looks too young to be an agent and too young for him to ever date her with a clear conscience. Her round face and still rosy cheeks make her look younger than she has to be.

"Yes, umm, I have a theory that the atmosphere of tension in here affects the machinery. Makes the coffee taste like crap, the computers break down at inopportune times. Essentially, Murphy's Law has twice the effect." Morgan scrunches his brows together, confused, and Spencer joins in.

"Whatever can go wrong, will go wrong." He offers up and the woman, well, girl laughs.

"Yes, exactly." A moment passes between Spencer and her, their eyes locked while she smiles and Spencer appears to begin hyperventilating before Morgan intervenes, extending a hand.

"I'm SSA Derek Morgan and this is SSA Spencer Reid. We're BAU." She may look young but her handshake is strong and confident.

"I should've known! SSA Rowena Meyers, White Collar. Jennifer Jareau is in your unit, right? She was in my graduating class." Rowena shyly reaches for a handshake from Spencer and he extricates his hand from the depths of his pocket to shake it weakly, numbed by her presence. Oh dear God, her hand is warm and soft and he can faintly smell bright and fruity perfume.

"Y-yes, she is." He answers shakily. Morgan has to resist the urge to chuckle at how smitten his friend is.

"JJ and I get together every once in a while to catch up. I've heard quite a bit about your unit." The hint of a smile on her face should make it clear exactly what Rowena means and Spencer finds himself blushing.

"Miss Meyers, large with two shots of peppermint?" She turns to take and pay for her coffee and Morgan lifts his eyebrows at Spencer, grinning wickedly, to which the younger man glares, mouthing the words "Shut up!"

"Well, it was a pleasure to meet you both. Tell JJ I'll call her soon." The words are addressed to both but her gaze lingers on Spencer and she smiles secretively, walking away with a quiet chuckle.

"Kid." Spencer tears his eyes away from the fitted black slacks swishing away and looks at Morgan, his face still dazed.

"Yeah?" He mutters, preoccupied, as he orders their coffee and Morgan rolls his eyes, putting a hand on his shoulder and shaking him for emphasis.

"That girl is so into you!"

"No way." Spencer dismisses, taking a long slurp of coffee to gather time for a defense. Morgan takes his coffee in his free hand and uses the one on Spencer's shoulder to smack him on the head. "Morgan!"

"Reid; she knows what the hell Murphy's law is. She talks like an encyclopedia. She's cute as a button. What in God's name are you waiting for?" He has to pick up his pace to keep up with Spencer's frantic steps as they go back to the BAU.

"Morgan, forget it. It's not gonna happen." He squeaks out, voice high-pitched because of his discomfort with the topic.

"Not if I have anything to say about it. Hey, JJ!" JJ makes her way over from Prentiss' cubicle, followed by Prentiss as soon as she notices the Spencer's blush and Morgan's smirk.

"What's up, guys?"

"We just a met a friend of yours, Rowena Meyers." JJ smiles in recognition.

"Oh yeah, we went to the academy together, she's in White Collar. I'm convinced that there's a calculator where her brain should be." Both women simultaneously look at Spencer, who is pointedly staring into the distance and JJ tilts her head, her smile as devious as Morgan's. "She's brilliant, a bit socially awkward, granted, not quite as much as you, but still. I can definitely see that the two of you would hit it off."

"What? Hit off what? I don't know what you're talking about, nobody was hitting anything off." He finally stops babbling by the time Garcia comes up behind Morgan and he wraps his arm around her, earning a giggle from the redhead computer genius.

"Aw, baby genius is rambling. Did he meet a pretty girl?" She sing-songs and Spencer works his mouth without words for about ten seconds before huffing and walking away to escape the searching eyes and laughter.

"You know, I have no idea why I didn't think about hooking those two up before now. She kept her nose in books but her dad was a cop, so she joined Detroit PD after college."

"That's no joke." Morgan says solemnly, respecting the fellow cop in the pretty girl.

"No kidding. She was good, so good that she made Vice detective." JJ's blue eyes cloud over. Her friend's story has as many twists and turns as anyone's, and that's all she can say. This has all reminded her just how much she needs to catch up with Rowena though. "We went to the Academy together, meet up occasionally."

"When are you gonna see her again?" JJ checks her watch.

"I could definitely take a lunch break."

Spencer's mind churns with thought all that night and into the next day. On the one hand, Morgan was absolutely right. On the other hand, Morgan was absolutely right. Rowena (he loves even thinking her name) is indeed very close to perfect. Attractive and yet somehow not out of his league, smart, funny. Maybe even interested. But he sucks at relationships. The thing with Lila was a phenomenon on the scale of the Aurora Borealis and not likely to happen again if he did pursue that avenue. The bartender he snared with a few well-played magic tricks was sweet and had the best of intentions but after his eighth lecture on obscure literature, she bailed too.

It seems he can only maintain the façade of normalcy long enough to interest a girl but once he lets himself slip, becomes truly comfortable and starts talking about physics, science fiction, medieval poetry, it ends as fast as it began. These are the things preoccupying him as he sits at his desk, staring at a case file but not really seeing it.

"Kid."

"Yeah?" He murmurs, looking up to see Morgan leaning over his cubicle. Wordlessly, he nods towards the doors and Spencer follows the gesture to where Rowena is standing in line at the coffee cart. "Morgan, I can't, okay? I just can't." He sounds defeated and Morgan blinks in surprise, then shrugs.

"Alright, kid. But who was it who told me that the right girl will find you at the right time?" Spencer watches as Morgan walks away, then back to the person clogging up his mind. Damn it, Morgan's right again. Without another thought or word, he's up and out the doors like a shot and Morgan watches him run in awkward geeky fashion, smiling.

Rowena pretends not to see him emerge from the B.A.U. or get in line behind her, studying her heels the color of a Halloween pumpkin. A certain fair-haired media liaison suggested she wear something more dressy today since Rowena has a habit of wearing whatever happens to be in her closet, no matter the color combination, and wears flats despite the unofficial F.B.I. dress code of heels. Of course, she scoffed but decided on heels and a skirt, insisting to herself that it has nothing to do with the shy, handsome man she'd met the day before.

"Rowena, right?" He asks hesitantly, although he never forgets anything, let alone hername. She turns and smiles at him, making his palms break out in cold sweat.

"Yes. Spencer, right?" He nods to indicate the affirmative, shoving his hands deep in his pockets and shifting his weight from heel to toe, heel to toe. She waits for him to speak again but he can't, looking anywhere but at her and, disappointed, she turns forward again.

Spencer mouths several words he wouldn't actually say and starts to head back to the unit but is stopped by Garcia and Morgan standing behind the doors and motioning emphatically for him to stay put. He wheels back around abruptly, fighting down panic with some modicum of success.

"Rowena, uh, that's a very unique name." He says tentatively and is rewarded by receiving her full attention again.

"Yes, my parents were very fond of _Ivanhoe_."

"You strike me as more of a Rebecca." Spencer ventures and she lifts an eyebrow, her lips nearing a smile.

"Really? Is that a question or a statement?" She asks with mischief twinkling behind her glasses, setting him at ease and encouraging him past his normal comfort zone.

"Neither, actually, it was an attempt at a compliment." Rowena smiles and his heart does a back flip.

"Explain." He's confused at her meaning and she laughs. "That was a challenge, Spencer." She elaborates and his mouth makes an O of surprise before he smiles and lets loose.

"Rowena had everything done for her and was used to being obeyed. Rebecca had to use her skills and risk her life to save herself and her father, but was still treated like a second-class citizen. She chose integrity over the easy way to become nobility." Rowena lifts an eyebrow with an impish smile that sends shivers down his back.

"But she ended up without a knight. Rebecca didn't get her happy ending." She puts forth and daring takes hold of Spencer's sanity.

"Have you had yours yet?" It's a not so veiled way of asking if she's single and he gets the sense Rowena can see straight through the question when she chuckles and her smile becomes soft.

"No, I suppose I am yet the independent Rebecca. Compliment accepted. Thank you, Spencer." The way she looks him up and down, subtly, tells him his interest is well received.

"Next?" Rowena holds up a finger and turns to order. "Large with two shots of peppermint please." Emboldened by the fact that this hasn't gone terribly wrong yet, he steps up and orders as well.

"Large with room for cream?" She looks at him in question as he pulls out his wallet and then her brown eyes widen.

"No, I can't let you do that." Rowena protests but he hands over his money anyway. Spencer takes the coffees from the woman behind the cart and steps to the side, extending one to her. She hesitates to take it.

"Even Rebecca needed a champion." Spencer ventures, completing his attempt at flirting and his smile widens when Rowena takes the coffee and her fingers brush his.

"It's been a pleasure, Sir Knight, but I must return to my keep." She says wryly with a warm smile and Spencer's heart soars.

"The pleasure is mine, Milady." He replies, as comfortable with the Old English as any knight of the Middle Ages. Rowena begins to walk away again, not without a nod of farewell, and Spencer starts to go back to the B.A.U. but Morgan and Garcia are glaring at him.

"What?" Morgan sighs before pretending to dial a number and Spencer blinks, not getting it. Garcia darts toward a desk and grabs a pad of paper, coming back quickly with the words "GET HER PHONE NUMBER!" scrawled in huge black letters.

"Oh!" He barely manages to catch the elevator and is relieved that she's the only one in it.

"Spencer?" She asks, clearly amused.

"Ummm.." Rowena's unbuttoned her suit jacket and the cerulean of the ruffled silk blouse underneath causes his brain to short out before kicking into high gear. "May I call on you?" The properly medieval way of asking works and she laughs, a sound that he would love to get used to.

"Why, of course." She answers, offering him a card he tries not to snatch. His hand stays in the door and his eyes locked on her chocolate ones for a moment and Rowena chuckles, shaking her head. "Until next time, Sir Knight." She hints, still smiling, and he hurriedly takes his hand out of the door.

"My Lady." Spencer steps back, takes a bow, and grins as the elevator doors close on her smile. He resists the urge to whistle as he walks in the doors, practically skipping to his chair and spinning around.

"Well?" It's Garcia from her place next to Morgan, both staring at him expectantly.

"What?"

"What? Kid, you're smiling like a jack-o-lantern and did you just bow to an elevator?"

"I did, because I am a knight." He says innocently, taking a sip of the best coffee he's ever had.


	2. Chapter 2 Summoning Courage

He still can't believe he did it. He bought a woman coffee. Not just any woman either, an intelligent F.B.I agent who knows her literature and physics and pop culture references. And not only that, but he got her phone number, all of his own accord. Well, his accord and Morgan's and Garcia's.

The problem is, he really doesn't know what to do next. Is there a set amount of time in which you should call back? Hopefully it's greater than four days because that's how long it's been since he's seen Rowena, let alone called her. And what sort of date should her ask her on? Is it even called a date yet? Coffee, isn't that the first step? Ugh, he hates the idea of coffee shop dates. The bitter liquid, though practically an elixir of life to any law enforcement agent, leaves one's breath foul and not at all appropriate for as close as he'd like to be to Rowena. The idea of even being close enough to her for that to be an issue makes his head spin. Spencer's long fingers play with the navy and white embossed card, rolling it between them as he thinks, brow scrunched.

"Kid, what are you doing?" Morgan always serves well to break him out of his reverie.

"What?" He almost loses control of the card but not quite.

"Have you called her yet?"

"No." He mutters, letting the card fall to the desk.

"Well why the hell not?"

"Because I don't know what to say, Morgan!" The older agent props himself up against Spencer's cubicle, trying and failing not to smirk.

"And here I thought you knew everything." Spencer groans softly and looks out the windows to where the coffee cart sits, reminding him of his cowardice. She's not in line today, oddly. "Hey, kid?"

"What?" He asks quietly, picking up the card again and bending it in his anxiety.

"This is the last time I'll say something, but it's now or never. Make a move or I can guarantee you, someone else will."

"What do I say, Morgan? What can I say to someone like her? She's gorgeous, smart, and I've only ever said, like, five words to her and I'm going on and on like a lovesick teenager!" Spencer resists the urge to bang his head on his desk but Morgan laughs.

"Tell her the truth, then. Trust me. Women are kind of a fan of that."

"Excuse me, do you know where I can find SSA Rowena Meyers?" Spencer asks the first agent he encounters on the White Collar Crime floor. The man nods and points to the office upstairs with "Rowena Meyers" gilded on the door while regarding Spencer as though he's mildly developmentally challenged. "Oh, thanks."

The White Collar floor is humming with activity and the agents look as intensely focused as any other in the building. Spencer stands outside of her door, murmuring excuses to himself. "What am I doing? I should just walk away, she's probably busy…"

"If you're talking about me, at the moment, I'm not." He turns so quick that the two coffees he's holding nearly spill all over him and Rowena notes it with a quirk of her lips, trying to resist a smile and failing. Her brown eyes are bright and crinkled into a merry smile of their own behind her glasses lenses. "Sir Reid, how are you?" He swallows hard when faced with her again. She's gotten a hair cut since Spencer saw her last but he doesn't mind, the mid-length bob somehow taming her hair into something that frames her round face wonderfully.

"Um, fine, and you?" Spencer stammers out, more courage flaring to life when it dawns on him that he's been deemed a knight again by this woman.

"I've been well." Rowena looks down to the two slightly shaking cups of coffee in his hands and then back at him, eyebrows raised.

"Would you like to step into my office?" She asks and Spencer manages a nod. Rowena opens the door and holds it open for him, shutting it softly and then sitting across from him, legs folded. She studies him just as closely as he has her, resisting the urge to smile at his choice of brown plaid today.

"You have a lovely office." He says as he looks around, noting the warm golden tones and burgundy accents, Japanese calligraphy, plenty of flowers. His profiling instincts urge him to find out what it means but it occurs to him that perhaps he ought find out the old-fashioned way.

"Thank you. Uh, bad day?" Rowena ventures with a bemused smile and Spencer tilts his head, confused. "Two large coffees at once usually means bad day."

"Oh! No, I got this one for you!" Her eyes widen behind her glasses and he start to backpedal. "If you want it, of course, if you don't that's fine, I'd understand…"

"Why didn't you call me, Spencer?" Rowena interrupts softly and its then that he realizes perhaps she is as uncertain of his interest in her as he is that its mutual.

"I didn't know what to say." He answers honestly and she takes the coffee from his now numb hand, her fingers brushing his and Spencer's sure it's deliberate this time. She takes a sip, studying him, and Spencer shifts in his seat.

"Two shots of peppermint. Good memory." Rowena says with a smile and Spencer grins back.

"Eidetic, actually."

"I had no idea those were real."

"Very. They're uncommon, though. I also have an I.Q. of 187 and can read over 20,000 words per minute." If anyone else said it, it would be bragging but Rowena can tell it's not meant that way.

"Why join the F.B.I.? With a resume like that, you could make millions rather than the peanuts they pay us here."

"I wanted to fight for something." It's an overly simplified answer but an honest one and she recognizes that. She stands, donning her suit jacket and Spencer stands too.

"Care for a walk? I can take a lunch break." Spencer smiles with more confidence than he can remember having while talking to a woman and it's returned. This time, he holds the door as they walk out.

"If you'll pardon my forwardness-"

"I have thus far." Spencer pauses and swallows nervously before he realizes that Rowena is sending him a mischievous look over the rim of her coffee cup.

"That was a joke." He states, relieved when Rowena smiles and tips her head in affirmation.

"It was indeed. I'm sorry, go on."

"No, no, it's fine. Um, if you'll pardon me, you seem rather intelligent as well. Why are you here?" Rowena slides into a cafeteria booth across from Spencer, running a hand through her dark waves and looks aside briefly. "I'm sorry, that was too personal."

"No, it's okay." She looks back at him and this is the first time he's seen hardness in her normally warm brown eyes. "I graduated from high school in middle of nowhere Michigan, went to college in California and got my bachelor's in Criminology and Accounting before I joined the Detroit police department." Her hands work over themselves and Spencer can watch the shadows cross her face. "I worked Vice for four years before I couldn't take anymore and went to the Academy. White Collar is a breeze after Vice. I crunch numbers, do the odd interrogation or two and occasionally bust in a door but I'm not terrified on the way in of what I'll see." The young BAU agent now understands the hard edge to her soft appearance. Her movements are lithe and constantly aware of her surroundings, peripheral vision always scanning. Back straight, shoulders back, constant strides; he should've known Rowena knows her way around something besides a computer. Still, something as harsh as Vice in a city like Detroit would give anyone sharp edges.

"That must have been hard."

"I did my best and I've made my peace with it. Now I'm doing the best I can another way." She smiles brightly after that comment, taking another long draught of coffee, and sighs. "Sorry, that's kind of heavy for lunch."

"No, no, it's okay. I like to listen to you talk." Spencer means it, and Rowena is a bit taken aback how genuine he is. No wonder JJ spoke in such glowing terms of Spencer.

"Why?" She asks quietly, surprised at her own attack of timidity but those eyes like good whiskey are not exactly shy in their examination or approval of her at the moment.

"I spend my days looking into the depths of human depravity and turning over the rocks to find out what's hiding underneath. I see terrible things, inhumane things done to human beings and they're usually women, and some nights I can't sleep and some days I can't eat…" Spencer realizes how far his rambling has gone when he recognizes the look on her face to be somewhere between empathy and compassion. His hands slip under the table to work over themselves but he smiles nonetheless, his next thought making him do so as he tries to phrase it properly. "I find listening to you, seeing you," her fierce blush makes his smile wider "to be incredibly soothing, actually." Rowena has no idea where this ability to not only compliment but do it wonderfully, authentically, is coming from, having seen only hints of it in their previous encounters. "Sorry, am I making you uncomfortable?" She chuckles, that is a little more like her previous impressions of him.

"No, not at all. I'm just surprised."

"By what?" He asks blankly.

"JJ told me your gift and curse is the ability to understand people so completely and speak frankly about what you see. It's fascinating in person. You should've called me sooner." It's meant to be a joke but he looks down, working his hands over themselves in his lap and feels suddenly ashamed to ever think he could pursue this woman but Rowena goes on. "I like this better than a phone call though." His head snaps up and she grins. "You're not too bad to look at either, you know." Spencer finds it in himself to grin right back.

Spencer blows through the lower levels of the BAU office and straight up to JJ's, not even knocking but opening the door, shutting it and starting to pace after he does.

"Um, hello, Spencer. Please, come in and tell me what's obviously bothering you." Her tone is amused rather than genuinely irritated and she puts down her pen for what is obviously going to be a long haul. Spencer stops and looks at her, as his fingers play an invisible piano, his favorite nervous tic.

"I-I just marched up to her office and we had lunch in the cafeteria and we talked and it was great!" She laughs, he's as out of breath as if he ran a marathon.

"Good for you, Spence, but what does this have to do with me?"

"I want to ask her out." The blonde agent smiles warmly at her sometime childish friend as he sits at her desk, his expression similar to the one he wears when his mind wanders as he processes any case-related piece of information. He still knows next to nothing about women unless they like to kill people, but at least he has the good sense to be so captivated by this particular woman.

"Once again, good for you, but what does this have to do with me?"

"What kind of food does she like, where would she want to go, what should I wear, what…" JJ holds up a hand and he obligingly stops with the rambling.

"I will not profile her for you, Spence. Get to know her, and I don't mean scan her and profile her yourself. Do your best to learn from what she says to you, nonverbal body language, but don't start trying to infer what kind of relationship she had with her father from what color shoes she's wearing. Does that make sense?" JJ explains and he nods thoughtfully.

"Get to know her through just conversation?" Spencer asks and she laughs.

"Yes. Now go ask her out before you put it off for another four days." He gapes and she rolls her eyes. "Even if Rowena and I weren't friends, you seriously think Morgan and I don't talk? Get out of here, Spence." She shoos him off gently and he complies, opening the door to leave. "But her favorite food is Korean." Spencer nods, grateful, shutting the door and then releasing a groan. Korean means _chopsticks_.


	3. Chapter 3 Date Night

It's not easy being Spencer Reid most days, not that it's easy being a BAU agent any day. Horror is the name of the game and their job is to submerge themselves in it, dissect it, understand it in the entirety of its evil. For Spencer, who sees most everything and understands more than most do, it can be far worse. When his nightmares stray past victims they couldn't save to Tobias, the occasional longing for the sweet solace of Dilaudid becomes yearning that eats away at him and it can make Spencer crazy. Crazy is another word that terrifies him when he remembers schizophrenia is passed genetically, though "remember" is a tad inaccurate since it never truly leaves his mind.

As he prepares for his date with Rowena, he's internally panicking. Spencer knows next to nothing about relationships, possibly the only subject that's true of. Between sporadic desire for Dilaudid, his mother, his job, he has no idea why any woman would ever want to be alone with him for any amount of time but apparently Rowena doesn't mind.

* * *

"Pretty bad case, huh?" He looks up from absentmindedly pushing around his teriyaki with chopsticks and blinks at Rowena.

"Sorry, what?" It's their first true date, a week since the impromptu coffee, and he obeyed JJ's suggestion and took her for Korean food. Rowena is wearing a teal knit dress with a braided trim around the scoop neckline and her hair tied back, no longer smiling but looking on him with sympathy.

"You've barely smiled, you shoulders are hunched like the weight of the world is on your shoulders, and you've hardly said a word. I'm guessing it's the case, unless it's me?" Spencer sighs and puts down the chopsticks (more than happy to be rid of the eating utensils better suited to be writing ones) and tries to think of some way to salvage the date he's wanted so badly since the moment he met her. Rowena has tried admirably to keep conversation going and he's afraid that his silent enjoyment of her voice has been taken to be lack of interest.

"It's not you, believe me. Things have been rough. The case…" He swallows hard and squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, blood and screams passing briefly through his mind as the long week in Boise comes back to him. Rowena can watch him sinking down into the mire of his thoughts again and stretches her hand across the table to rest gently on his. Spencer opens his eyes at the soft touch and she smiles as encouragement, her dark brown eyes as warm on him as her hand on his.

"You don't have to talk about it, unless it helps. I understand if you just can't take your mind off it now, I'd expect nothing less." Rowena can't explain why she feels so acutely for this man but she does. They haven't spoken much, but there's a spark between them that's connected them already, the only problem being what to do with it.

"I am a terrible date." He murmurs, his hand twitching slightly beneath the light, smooth, warm weight of hers. This is a disaster.

"Spencer, I like you, I think that much is clear, and that means I care about your wellbeing." She tips her head slightly to the side and smiles, pushing her glasses up. "You have my phone number, you know where I work, you know one of my good friends quite well, and I'm guessing you can find where I live quite easily. I'm going to leave-" His eyes widen in panic, "but I want you to find me if and when you're ready to talk." Rowena begins to stand but Spencer grasps her hand to prevent its departure, unwilling to let her go.

"Please, Rowena, don't go. I'm sorry and I understand if you never want to try this again..." Spencer swallows hard again and his next words are hoarse. "I'm kind of a mess."

"So was Ivanhoe. Why do you think he needed Rowena?" She smiles and squeezes his hand gently. "Take the time you need. I'm not going anywhere." Spencer nods and watches her leave, trying to sort through the knot in his stomach. That case in Boise has thoroughly made a mess of him, hopefully temporarily, and has now trashed this date. He watches her hand clench into a fist, run down the side of her dress, and a sigh whistle from her, obvious signs that she's discouraged. No. No, he's not willing to let this job take one more thing from him, let alone Rowena. He tosses the appropriate amount for the check on the table and chases her.

"Rowena!" She turns around and is nearly knocked over backwards by Spencer as he skids up to her. Rowena doesn't recognize this new passionate stare as she looks up to him, his face is so close. He bites down on his lip, searching her dark eyes for indication that she still wants anything to do with him until they look away.

"You can call me Roe, Spencer." Rowena says haltingly, made nervous by his now intense presence this close.

"I like saying Rowena, if you don't mind." There's something nearly sensual in the way he says the words and she looks back at him, unconsciously inhaling as his hand comes up to her cheek, but Spencer smiles as it just brushes behind her ear to reveal a bright red rose. "My dear Lady Rowena, I beg your permission to call upon you again. I offer you this rose, however small and insignificant a token it may be." Magic and courtship, these are things he's comfortable with and she watches him unfold into the man she wants to know, light dancing behind what were lifeless eyes only minutes earlier. Rowena takes the rose, cradling it delicately and he feels a rather knightly surge of pride at the shy smile on her face and pink cheeks.

"Sir Knight, you are granted safe haven and company whenever you so desire." Her free hand is taken gently and kissed even more tenderly, his whiskey brown eyes thanking her like he cannot and Rowena can feel her blush darken to what must be scarlet now.

"Thank you." Spencer releases her hand (reluctantly) and it wraps around the roses stem immediately. Rowena's sure, more so than before; she definitely likes this man.

"You are very welcome." She hugs the rose a little closer to her chest and smiles. "No one's ever gotten me flowers before." Rowena says quietly but happily before leaning forward and kissing him on the cheek. "Call me when you're ready." He watches her walk away with considerably better spirits this time. 

* * *

JJ doesn't know Rowena nearly as well as she does Spencer but they were close coming up through the Academy. Women still aren't taken as seriously as they should be by the male F.B.I. trainees and they bonded over it. Now Rowena's involvement in another sector of her life has brought the two closer.

"A rose, really?" JJ asks, handing her friend a glass of white wine and sitting beside her again with her own. They've made a point of getting together more often since Spencer met Rowena and mentioned it in the office. Will has taken their son to the park to play, not only to spend time with their son but also to give his hardworking wife a bit of time to herself.

"Pulled from behind my ear. Slick, right? It was smooth. I was a bit taken aback."

"_You_ were taken aback? I'm not convinced you're not actually dating Spencer's suave identical twin." JJ says with a chuckle. Rowena toys with the glass, looking down.

"I'm not sure if one date merits the verb form of the word just yet."

"Please don't tell me you're doubting how he feels about you. The boy is completely smitten, believe me." She laughs to hide her blush, something she's doing a lot since she met the man in question.

"No, I'm not. I doubt whether or not he's ready for anything like a stable relationship. He's so young…"

"You're the same age!" Rowena shoots her friend a look.

"I know that. I've had a few serious relationships, you know that, but he obviously hasn't. I don't want to hurt Spencer, JJ, and he seems sort of fragile right now." She likes Spencer but it's true that he seems to be a bit unstable right now, despite how sweet he is. Not that Rowena wouldn't like to help him, she would, but dating may not be the best avenue.

"Roe, he is resilient like you would not believe. He's just been through a lot. So have you, in case you've forgotten, and you're one of the strongest people I know. Everyone's got issues, you can't wait until they vanish to try and find happiness with another person. Especially if they're BAU."

"You think it could work between us?" Rowena asks quietly, still fidgeting with the glass in her hands.

"I do. As independent as you are, you need someone, and so does he. I think you're wonderful for him already…"

"Really?" JJ quirks an eyebrow at her friend, who is looking at her hopefully.

"Yes, really. Every time he gets done talking to you, he can't stop smiling. I can tell when you text him because his face lights up. And despite that borderline fiasco of a date, you're here and you're doing a poor job of disguising how cheerful you are too." JJ wags a motherly finger at Rowena. "You like him more than you want to admit, and it's mutual. If you two don't work out, fine. But it better not be because you both are too scared." Rowena jokingly narrows her eyes, though she's still smiling.

"Motherhood has made you mean." The blonde woman laughs and takes a sip of her own wine.

"I prefer honest."

* * *

Author's Note; If you read this when it was just a one shot, thank you for sticking around this long.

Also, everyone, if you have suggestions as to what you'd want to see in this story, please tell me. More of Rowena's life, more of Spencer's? I welcome feedback. Review or message, I don't mind. Flames will be ignored, all else will be replied to posthaste. We here write for the readers, and I do not mind if you're too shy to review, I'm still grateful for your time.


	4. Chapter 4 Take 2

It has not been a particularly good day for SSA Meyers. The morning started with her alarm clock deciding to malfunction, eliminating her ability to enjoy the morning cycle on Sportscenter with a cup of coffee, run an iron through her hair, or put on more makeup than foundation or a dash of mascara. It doesn't help that it's been two weeks since the date and all she's gotten from Spencer has been a text message thanking her for her understanding. Don't misunderstand, she meant what she said to him about waiting until he's ready but she has her own set of insecurities and needs so far as relationships and this may or may not be entrenching them.

Her hose catch on and rip on the side of the counter on her way out, leaving Rowena grateful she shaved the night before because it's looking like a barelegged day. It's a warm day, luckily, and so her unruly hair ends up bound on the top of her head with only her bangs free and her suit jacket is thrown over her arm as she storms into the building. Her ridiculously high black heels were the first shoes she could find that morning and so they click angrily across the tile floor, something that does not go unnoticed.

"Damn, Spencer, what did you do to tick her off?" Morgan asks the question from his spot perched beside the young genius. They're writing up long overdue paperwork, and Morgan uses Spencer for reference to make sure that the finer details match up.

"Huh?" Spencer looks up just in time to see Rowena virtually stomping across the floor to the elevator, obviously in a foul mood. "Nothing that I can remember. We ended our date on good terms, or at least I thought so." He's truly puzzled and Morgan silently gives him the benefit of the doubt, not wanting to interfere too much.

"When was that date?"

"Two weeks ago." Morgan's a bit surprised by the time lapse, but the BAU has been busy and everyone gets distracted.

"Go well?" Spencer's quiet and Morgan looks up at him from his paperwork, seeing him turning the pen over in his hand and gnawing his lip. "Kid, I know I make fun of you sometimes but you can talk to me about anything." He sighs.

"I know, but I really thought it was okay. We went out and I was…I was not all there because of Boise." The taller agent nods, watching his friend carefully. Profiling habits die hard and he's alert to any clues to something deeper going on. "She could tell and ended the date early. She didn't want to make me try and stay focused when I obviously wasn't." Spencer smiles briefly at the next memory. "I pulled a rose from behind her ear and thanked her, apologized, and she, uh, she kissed me on the cheek." Morgan chuckles and shoves his shoulder playfully, making Spencer's grin bashful.

"My man! Doesn't sound too bad. Did you call her?" He blinks.

"What?"

"Spencer. Did you call her after that, tell her thanks, send her flowers, anything?" Spencer shakes his head slowly, confused, and Morgan's palm makes a resounding smack against his own forehead. "I do not understand how you can know so much and yet so little about women."

"Did I do something wrong?" His voice is starting to get higher with panic.

"No, no, not necessarily. Other option is just your run of the mill bad day, we all have them and it may just be Rowena's turn. But I guarantee you that she's wondering if you're still interested in her."

"Why wouldn't I be?" Spencer asks, his eyebrows crumpled together.

"Well, it sounds like she wants to genuinely have a close relationship with you. She's probably hoping you'll reach out to her sometime soon, give her an indication that you're still interested. Are you still interested?" Spencer's eyes wander to the coffee cart and his smile becomes a bit wistful as he thinks of the soft pressure of her lips on his cheek.

"Very much so. I just…" He kneads his forehead with a hand. "I don't know how to do this, Derek. I want to get to know her better but things are so complicated. Nothing like poetry, nothing like romantic novels. Derek, I wouldn't even want a relationship with me, why would she?" His hand slams against his armrest, frustration with himself exploding and then going back under control. Morgan puts a hand on his friend's shoulder, feeling rather brotherly as he does. One of his best traits is his protective nature and it bothers him to think that Spencer might miss out on this girl for no good reason.

"Spencer, women are a mysterious and sometimes crazy species. Why they do the things they do, pick the men they do, nobody knows and this is a profiler talking. Rowena likes you, apparently because of everything that makes you weird. Stop trying to think every little thing through so damn thoroughly for once, and don't write yourself off so easy. You got plenty to offer." Spencer smiles finally, though he still looks thoughtful.

"Do you think Garcia would mind looking up an address for me?" Morgan chuckles.

"I know she won't mind."

On the way home, Rowena hopes and prays that her day will somehow get better, thinking it has to. She lives in a townhouse in an older neighborhood on the outskirts of the city and when she pulls in the driveway, her interest is piqued. There's a familiar lanky figure seated on the steps of her home. Rowena parks and shuts the door, pausing for a moment to just observe.

"Spencer Reid." Rowena murmurs to herself, a smile spreading and beginning to do away with the stress of the day. He stands up and smiles back, and it's then that she notices he's holding something behind his back. "Well, well. I'm guessing I owe this visit to the BAU's computer genius, Garcia?" She says louder as she approaches him.

"I didn't mean to invade your privacy and I hope you're not upset, I just wanted to give you these." Spencer pulls a bouquet of tiger lilies from behind his back and extends them to her, his cheeks pink and his eyes hopeful. She's struck dumb and he immediately begins to ramble. "I'm sorry, I should've asked before I came to your home, and I should've called earlier than two weeks after our date but I was afraid you wouldn't want to go out with me after it but you looked like you had a rough day and I just…" He sighs. "I just wanted to make you smile. I'm sorry, this was a terrible idea." Rowena laughs quietly and if he didn't know better, he'd swear there are unshed tears in her eyes.

"No, Spencer, thank you. Thank you so much." She takes them from him and inhales deeply, the spicy sweet smell further eroding the stress of her day. "How did you know these are my favorite?" He opens and shuts his mouth, thinking better of the long answer he was going to give.

"I guessed." Rowena lifts an eyebrow.

"Is that shorthand for profiling?" Spencer nods and loses a bit of his own anxiety when she doesn't frown or scowl. Rowena looks past him to her door, and has to think only a moment before speaking again. "Do you want to come in?" She asks simply.

"Oh, no, I've already invaded your privacy , I can, uh, just call a cab, or something." He nervously answers and she chuckles.

"You haven't intruded, but would you like to come in until a cab gets here?" Spencer nods, glad that she's being patient with his social stumbling about and not quite trusting himself to talk again. She pulls out her keys and as she opens the door, Spencer composes himself. The last time he was in the home of a girl he was currently interested in, someone was trying to kill her. "Come on in." She kicks off her shoes as she walks in the door and he starts to fumble with his, but Rowena waves him off. "It's a habit of mine, not a rule."

"Oh, okay." Spencer feels himself blushing again and hates every second of it. He looks around, profiler's instincts, and starts to compile. More warm tones. The walls are a soft yellow-white, and the furniture he can see is almost all strictly classic, in shades of brown, and no modern touches except the entertainment center. Jazz lines her music shelves along with pop from her childhood and R&B. She's an old soul, faithful to her at least partially African-American roots it would seem from the Harlem Renaissance copies.

"Would you like coffee, glass of wine, tea?" Rowena asks from the kitchen down the hall and he shakes out of observation to answer.

"Um, coffee, if you don't mind?" Her full laugh rings out and the sound makes him smile before he realizes he is.

"Spencer! You are my guest, stop asking me if I mind." She calls down the hall. The coffee pot hums on and Spencer looks for a place to sit. There's chairs at her counter and a breakfast nook carved out of what appears to be oak in the corner of her kitchen, tiger lilies neatly in a vase on the table already. "Spencer?" Once again, he's shaken out of his reverie and looks at her. "I'm going up stairs to change into something more comfortable, please make yourself at home. I mean it, you look like you're standing on eggshells." Spencer sighs.

"I'm sorry, I just don't normally do this." She comes around the counter toward him slowly, reminding him for some reason of the stalk of a lioness.

"Do what, Spencer? What are you doing, exactly?" Rowena's tone is pure mischief and as she comes within a foot of him, close enough for him to smell her fruity perfume, Spencer is proud that he realizes she's not only talking about his physical location. Her dark brown eyes examine him from the bottom up, moving with deliberation, and a fire lights in his chest when they meet with his. "Hmm?" Rowena knows, oh she knows, exactly what she's doing to him and Spencer decides in a moment of what is probably the early advance of schizophrenia, to return in kind.

"I'm not sure, but, uh, I think I may be flirting with you, in your home no less. Something I most definitely do not do often." Spencer replies, not breaking the eye contact. She laughs again, sending chills down his spine, and sends him a look he cannot decipher, brushing past him into her living room and up the stairs. He can hear rustling upstairs and starts to examine her DVD shelf, trying desperately not to think about the fact that Rowena is taking off clothing directly above his head.

Rowena, for her part, is wearing a gleeful smile as she changes into a pair of brown leggings and an oatmeal colored lightweight cotton shirt that reaches her knees. She's not particularly slender but fit and well shaped; the shirt is loose but doesn't hide that she has curves, baring part of a shoulder and that's about it. It hasn't slipped her notice that Spencer hasn't actually called a cab, and she's pleased by it. She looks in the mirror and groans at the tired circles beneath her eyes and messy bun, but leaves her hair in its place atop her head and her makeup as is. He's already seen her like this, he's about to see her in lounge clothing too, Rowena's fairly certain that Spencer must like her appearance since he's still around.

"Take anything with your coffee?" He blinks when he sees her in comfortable clothing. It's domestic and, he's shocked to realize, natural to him to see Rowena this way.

"Um, yeah, two sugars, if you have it." Rowena pours it and adds the sugar, handing him the black-handled burgundy mug. Her own goes in a green mug covered in delicate black ivy with a hefty dump of powdered creamer and Splenda. He takes a sip. "Good coffee."

"It's the little things in life." She replies, drinking her own with obvious enjoyment.

"No peppermint?"

"I try to limit my habit to work." The smell of something spicy is pervading the kitchen, likely from the Crockpot in the corner, as they talk and Spencer's stomach lets out a growl, wholly against his will. "Hungry?" She asks, obviously amused.

"Yes, but-" His eyes widen. "I didn't call the cab." Like at the Korean restaurant before, her hand reaches across to sit softly on his but this time the gesture is timid.

"It's a Friday night. If you don't have other plans, I'd be happy if you stay for dinner." Spencer can tell Rowena means this honestly, just like the last time she offered him a chance to steer this wherever he feels comfortable. Morgan was right though. He'll never know if he doesn't try this and dear God, does he want to.

"I'd like that." Taking the risk, he deftly slides his hand below hers and grasps it, his long fingers wrapping around hers with painstaking care to be gentle. Rowena smiles and squeezes his hand, but seems hesitant still.

"This feels oddly familiar." She murmurs, trying to stay positive but is secretly terrified that this is heading towards another two week gap.

"Yeah, it does. But I don't intend to go anywhere." Rowena looks up and, recognizing hope, returns it with a smile. "At least not until after dinner."


	5. Chapter 5 Oh Hello There

Spencer wakes up slowly to a series of realizations. First, he is not in his perfectly medium hard bed. Secondly, it is definitely later than he sleeps on any given day because balmy light is teasing at his eyes. The third is the most jarring to his waking process; there is definitely a warm body across his lap. He opens his eyes and looks down, only to inhale deeply at what he sees. Rowena's head is cradled in her own arms, resting on a throw pillow in his lap. Further, one of his hands is tangled in her hair.

"Oh, dear God." He blurts in a fairly decent chipmunk pitch, managing by some miracle to not jump out of his skin and oh so slowly freeing his hand from her hair. Rowena is snoring, her breath whistling in and out in soft, almost whimpers. It takes him a minute but he manages to relax his vertebrae back into their proper order, his eyes fixated on her face. No, nothing happened the night before. If he recalls correctly, they watched at least three episodes of Babylon 5 before he fell asleep. That means Rowena at least partially chose to sleep where she did. "Oh God." Spencer squeaks, suppressing his body's desire to begin hyperventilating at that thought. This time the ridiculously high sound of his voice forces Rowena from her own sleep. He'd swear her eyes are so brown they're black when they flicker open. There's a brief pause and he's expecting them to widen in horror but Rowena smiles widely, looking sleepy still.

"Morning." She groans, stretching, and in the process accidentally pushing herself harder against him, causing Spencer's right hand to ball into a fist as he bites the inside of his cheek.

"Um, good morning. I'm pretty sure I've severely overstayed my welcome." He mumbles, knowing his cheeks are probably an interesting shade of scarlet. Spencer watches her realize everything that he already has and turn her own shade of pink, then shrug her shoulders against him, causing him to twitch.

"Spencer, you cannot overstay your welcome, for God's sake. I freely admit this a bit awkward, however." Rowena says with early morning borderline incoherence, sitting up straight and hauling herself off the couch in short order. Spencer makes a snap judgment he doesn't need to be a profiler to get; she is not a morning person. The coffee pot turns on, and he hears a deep groan from the kitchen and then the bathroom door slam. He's a bit at a loss, since she appears to be taking this all in stride. Spencer stands and follows her to the kitchen after she emerges from the restroom with a dewy face and minty breath, watches as she pulls out tomatoes, eggs, sausage, bread and butter.

"So, I should probably be getting home, huh?" He gets out haltingly, playing with his smartphone but not quite dialing yet.

"It's Saturday. Saturday morning, I make a big breakfast. Habit I formed in Detroit, it helped me after long nights of not sleeping. Easy to make enough for two, but if you want to go home, I understand." Rowena's voice is still sleepy and her hands are a blur obviously laid in by routine. That nagging feeling of being where he belongs creeps back in as he watches her make breakfast.

"You don't sleep?" Rowena blinks and looks at him, still a bit bleary.

"Not usually. I'm an insomniac." She puts her hands to work again. "I haven't slept that well in years, actually." She adds softly.

"May if I use your restroom?" Rowena gives him an exasperated glance.

"No." He stands still, fidgeting, until she grants him a playful smile. "That was a joke." Spencer makes use of the restroom, using the toothbrush he keeps in his side bag. Being constantly on call does help in some respects. He comes from the bathroom feeling like a human being again and sits at the counter, watching Rowena prepare breakfast with something approaching peace pervading him.

"Rowena, are we dating?" He asks shyly. Black hair is flipped artfully out of her face and she looks him straight in the eyes, a lazy half-smile decorating her bare face. His heart skips a beat at his own audacity but all he wants is to somehow be able to say that the fascinating, beautiful, strange woman who slept in his lap last night is somehow his.

"Spencer, do you want to date me?" She asks patiently.

"Yes, of course, but I don't mean going out on individual dates, I want to know if we're…engaged in the verb form of the word. If we aren't just more than colleagues who went out once and that's all." Spencer knows this is more daring than anything he's tried before but he wants to know, has to know. She pulls out a mixing bowl and whisk along with myriad seasonings, setting them beside the stove (where sausage is already filling the room with its earthy smell) before coming around the corner of the counter, her own mind made up. "I'm sorry. This isn't coming out right. I'm being too forward again, aren't I?" He asks, rubbing his forehead with a shaky hand as he thinks about just how terrible he is at this, but she takes that hand from him and slides her fingers between his. This is all together too much playing around, and Rowena is not known for her patience.

"No. Not nearly forward enough." She stands on her toes and kisses him briefly, looking for reaction to the unexpected move. It's time the handsome doctor learns a little faster.

Spencer is far too shocked to react for at least two seconds but finds himself leaning down to kiss her back. Surprised, Rowena lets him have his way, smiling against his lips when she feels a hand on her waist and another sink itself in her hair to get her closer. Her arms wrap around his neck to help her stand on her toes (she's two or three inches shorter than he) but Rowena can't hold it for as long as she wants and falls back to the heels of her feet, breaking the kiss when it was just starting to get interesting. She tilts her head at him, looking for reaction but his whiskey brown eyes are clouded and half open, chest heaving, and he's holding her close to his gangly frame as she assumes he gathers his thoughts. She chuckles and tucks her face against his chest, smiling happily. He even tastes sweet.

"Spencer?" Rowena asks, tone merry. It's finally hit him that the question may not be whether or not she'd want to be his, but whether or not he wants her to be. Morgan's right, he can be an idiot.

"We're dating." He states firmly when he gets his breath back and Rowena returns the smile, leaning in for a repeat when Spencer's phone goes off on the counter, vibrating and ringing in a piercing tone. She sighs and gestures for him to get it, and he does, swearing under his breath. "What?" He barks into the phone and Rowena chuckles to herself at it, going back to cooking.

"Where? How many victims?" She keeps her shoulders from slumping. Of course, a case. "Fine, I'll be there. Umm, no, I'd rather you don't pick me up, I'll take a cab. Yes, I know I live on your way to the airport, Morgan. Because, because I said so. I'm not home, okay?" The eggs are cracked and go into the pan, and she grins at the half of the conversation she can hear. "Yes, alright, I'm at Rowena's, _shut up_!" Spencer hisses, enormously embarrassed at Morgan's whistle, which is definitely audible to the entire kitchen. "Fine, I'll see you in half an hour. No, no, don't you dare tell the others. Derek? Derek!" He closes his phone.

Two plates of food are set across from each other with coffee and orange juice and Rowena picks hers, digging in. Following unspoken cues, Spencer takes the other, not wanting to broach the silence.

"I take it your entire team thinks we slept together?" He chokes on a mouthful of tomato and egg while Rowena fails to hide a smirk.

"Probably, yes."

"We're dating, dear, not sleeping together." He tucks that piece of information away.

"We are. We are dating." Spencer murmurs happily before taking a heaping bite and Rowena does her best not to blush.

"Well, aren't you happy about that?" She tries to sound like she doesn't care and fails. If this is indeed going to progress, her own life, insecurities and quirks are going to come out, some slow and some fast. Spencer's past is complicated, but everyone has things that will come out as they dare to approach someone else.

"Of course I am. I like you. I like how comfortable you are with yourself, with or without makeup. I like that you're fond of earth toned colors, and how it shows in your personality, how caring you are…" He shuts up, not wanting to profile, and she smiles.

"You make me sound far more interesting than I am."

"But you are interesting!" There's a firm knock at the door after almost precisely half an hour and Rowena slides on her glasses to answer the door.

"Rowena, it's Morgan, I got it." Spencer calls as he hastens after her but her reply is also firm.

"My house, I answer the door." She opens the door and is greeted by a smug Derek Morgan. "Hello, Mr. Morgan. How are you?"

"Just fine, miss, and you?" His sharp eyes have already taken in the fact that her clothes are obviously slept in, just like Spencer's. He can easily tell that it isn't what it looks like but also that there's protective instincts in Spencer's wary posture and careful watching. Yes, yes, indeed; Mr. Dr. Spencer Reid has found himself a woman he likes quite a bit.

"The same."

"Mind if I borrow the squirmy whiz kid behind you? I promise I'll return him in one piece." She chuckles and gently pushes him forward and out the door.

"You may indeed."

"Rowena, wait!" Spencer manages to blurt as he's halfway down the stairs and Morgan, waiting at the car, turns to observe as inconspicuously as possible. She lifts an eyebrow at him. "Do, do you mind if I, uh, call you, while I'm gone?"

"Spencer Reid, I will absolutely mind if you don't." The door shuts after a wink and a beam, and Morgan whistles again, ignoring the glare he receives.


	6. Chapter 6

After a final sorting of what was occurring between she and Spencer, Rowena is much more at ease than she's been in quite a while. Though the case keeps him for awhile, her co-workers and friends notice a marked improvement in Rowena's mood and demeanor. Rather than loose pantsuits, which are still striking on her as most clothing is, she's taken to skirts and heels and just a touch more makeup than usual. It's not precisely for his approval, since she obviously knows he's not there to appreciate it, but rather because there's something decidedly satisfying about knowing that Spencer Reid has a thing for her. Petty, maybe, but she likes knowing (and he reminds her by text message fairly frequently) that he _likes_ her; her voice, her hair, her smile, her wit. Spencer merely enjoys everything about her.

Spencer debates the merits of adding yet another emoticon to the text message he wants to send Rowena, and although he's rather proud of himself for figuring out how to make a Yoda with only his keyboard, he decides against it. This is probably a juvenile enough exercise in high school love affairs. They're even shy about physical affection still.

She smiles and replies yes, she was in fact thinking of him. It's been nearly two months now and while Spencer's probably only been around for the equivalent of one, they're very comfortable with each other when he is there. Friday nights they'll have dinner and watch TV, maybe play a board game if Rowena doesn't mind having her ass kicked that day, and she usually doesn't.

Rowena hits send and as if by design, her phone immediately rings.

* * *

Spencer waits anxiously outside her office for the response and, when he receives it, grins and pushes through the door. "Rowena!" His enthusiasm is gutted when he sees her sitting limp in her chair with what he can only describe as a hollow expression. She gestures for him to sit and swivels her chair away, speaking quietly. He has superb hearing however and can hear her half of the conversation.

"No. I can't. There's no one else? I know what I promised and I meant it, but… Alright, Cal, I'll be there. Yeah, okay. Next week? I'll be there." She taps the red phone on the screen and lays her phone down gently, though her hands are clenched to white knuckles around it.

"Is everything alright?" It's a dumb question and one he knows the answer to, but still. Rowena turns to face him; he notes her clenched jaw and the gleam to her impossibly dark eyes as the physiological signs of impending crying, but he's not quite sure what to qualify the punch to his gut as. Just how viscerally her apparent pain hits him is a shock to his system in and of itself.

"I'm fine." She murmurs, flicking her gaze away, then a choking laugh bubbles out of her. "What am I doing? You're a profiler, of course you know something's wrong." Her fingers start to tap an erratic pattern against the table.

"I-I wouldn't have to be." Spencer is surprised to find a catch in his own throat. "Rowena, I understand if you don't want to talk, but…" She's silent, staring at nothing particular in a corner and it's, he realizes, starting to shake him. "Rowena." Spencer sees that she's actually beginning to shake physically and pure male instinct is about to drag him out of his chair to embrace her whether she wants it or not when she speaks.

"There's a perp up for parole in Detroit, because of overcrowding. I have to testify because the victim, uh, the victim killed herself two years ago. I promised her the day we arrested him that I'd be there if they tried to let him out, I just never thought they'd put him up for parole."

"If a useless statistic could possibly make you feel better, 33% of prisons are overcrowded." Rowena chuckles and then sniffs, her hands jerky as they try to clear away her smeared mascara.

"I'm a mess. I'm sorry."

"No, no, don't be. I'm sorry, that must be painful to dig up." She nods, kneading her forehead with a fist and trying desperately to smile but not doing it well.

"Spencer, I'm glad you're back, I really am. I just want to be alone right now. I'm going to go home and cry into some ice cream and beat the hell out of my punching bag and possibly drink."

"Rowena…" He rises from his chair and starts to come around the desk.

"No, no. _Definitely_ drink." She mutters, jerking up abruptly and beginning to pack her desk essentials into her backpack.

"Rowena." Spencer's long arms are taking her gently by the elbows before she noticed he was out of his chair and Rowena looks up at him blankly, not really seeing him through the tears that are now running freely. He smiles, though it's clear that her emotional trauma is getting to him, and wraps his arms around her with as much care as the lanky genius can muster. Gently but insistently, he guides her head to be tucked against his shoulder with one hand and strokes her back with the other. It's meant to be a comfort to her and it is, but Spencer finds himself calmed by her warmth in his hands again. "It'll be okay. I promise." She melts against him, letting him support her weight as her arms clasp around his back.

"You're sweet, but you can't promise that." She mumbles into his plaid vest, smelling aged tea leaves and yellowed book pages. Spencer strokes her hair, smoothing the dark gnarls from it.

"I can promise that tonight will be okay if you come home with me."

"Are you propositioning me, sir?" Rowena means it in jest but feels his arms tighten around her in panic.

"No, of course not, not that you aren't beautiful and gorgeous and worthy of propositioning but I meant I could take care of you tonight so you feel better, like with a cup of tea and maybe read to you…" She starts to shake in his arms again and Spencer nearly bites through his lip until she looks up at him and he sees the smile beneath the drying film of tears.

"Okay. Can you drive my car? I don't trust myself to drive." He smiles back, feeling warmth spreading through his chest.

"Anything for milady." Spencer answers, wiping away the moisture beneath her eyes and kissing her nose.

* * *

"You are never driving my car again."

"I got us here safely!" Spencer protests as he tries to unlock his apartment door, his arms full of his bag and hers.

"It would seem as though by accident!" The door finally opens and Rowena is gestured in, Spencer trying his best not to think about what this all means. She looks about and smiles as she does, starting to forget why her ribs ache from dry sobs. His apartment is in beiges and browns but tastefully geek chic, buried in vinyl records and science fiction disc sets and Russian literature.

"I'm sorry, it doesn't look like much."

"No, no, I like it." Rowena replies quietly, taking her bag and setting it beside her on the couch. "I'm sure I don't look like much after crying all over you."

"I don't mind. I may…" His voice breaks ever so slightly but he covers it quickly, the rush of water filling up his hot water kettle masking it. "I may need the same from you some time." Rowena looks over her shoulder at him, a wave of warmth and indefinable fond sentiment choking anything she could say for a few moments.

"I'll be happy to." It's starting to get too comfortably close and Rowena remembers that she's in a navy blue suit that is wrinkled to all hell and now confining and uncomfortable. "Spencer, could I maybe borrow some clothes?"

"Oh, of course!" Spencer nearly trips over himself and into her, not believing he hadn't thought to offer already. "I don't know what I have that fits you, but…"

"A pair of boxers and a T-shirt will do fine." The thought of Rowena in his shirt and a pair of his underwear saps the strength from his knees and the words from his tongue. "Spencer? Please don't tell me you wear tighty whities."

"No, no, of course I don't, that would be childish and ridiculous." He turns an approximate shade of purple and hurriedly grabs a pair of plain grey striped boxers, shoving all of his briefs to the back of his drawer, and tosses them to her, followed by a white shirt.

"Thank you." Rowena's smirk tells him she knows just what he did and walks into his bathroom to change. She folds her suit neatly and dons his clothing, noticing that the boxers fit pretty well apart from being a bit too long and the shirt hangs with surprising flattery. Still somber despite her rapidly improving mood, she exits the bathroom quietly and blinks at seeing Spencer's back, naked from the waist up. "Don't tell me this was your only shirt." He jumps and turns to face her, fumbling with the green shirt in his hands and speaking through it as he yanks it on as quickly as he can. He's of course lean, but surprisingly muscled as well; just how pale he is makes her chuckle.

"I'm sorry, I thought you'd take longer…" His voice trails off as the shirt clears his head and he gets a good look at her.

"You're fine, Spencer." She says, her amusement with her shy boyfriend or something starting to overcome the memories starting to make their way back. There's a pause as Spencer's eyes trace from the loose, messy waves brushing her shoulders down to her body framed by his clothing and decides that those shorts and shirt are wasted on him. "What?" Rowena asks quietly, not quite sure how he's staring at her. Her emotional state is somewhat fragile still.

"Nothing. Would you, uh, like some tea?"

"Yes, please." Rowena follows him to the kitchen.

Spencer prepares two cups of chamomile and sets them on the coffee table, sitting beside her and watching her as she drinks it slowly. She's aware of the caramel colored eyes following her every move as she sips. Confused, she looks at him.

"What is it, Spencer?" Rowena asks. He swallows hard and reaches out a hand to touch her arm, wanting physical contact, and she places her hand over his immediately.

"I don't know." He sighs and takes the cup from her hands, putting it on the table beside his. Spencer's arms pull at her and gently, insistently pull her closer until Rowena is curled up in his lap. "Just let me hold you."

"Thank you for understanding." She murmurs against the cool skin of his neck and he shudders at the warming sensation.

"I know what it's like to be unable to clear away terrible memories, no matter how much you want to. Believe me, I know."

"Things are messy." Rowena mutters and Spencer chuckles, holding her a bit tighter.

"I know. But this isn't."

"You know, we shouldn't be as attached to each other as we are. We barely see each other, or at least it seems that way." She says it like a curious phenomenon of nature and he considers it. A few dates, all of them good except for the one made awful by circumstances. It's just circumstances seem to be continually dictating their relationship. He's grateful this time though, because circumstances have driven her straight into his embrace.

"I don't know." Spencer's hand drifts to clasp hers and Rowena can feel a chuckle ruffle her hair. "Does it matter?" It's a bit plaintive, a bit childlike, but only because he means it so earnestly.

"No. No, it doesn't." She sighs. "I scheduled a flight to Detroit for Saturday. I don't know how long I'll be gone."

"Wow, it's, uh, strange to have someone saying that to me." Spencer replies dryly and she laughs, the sound relieving him immeasurably.

"I'm sure. I'll call you while I'm gone."

"Spend the night here?" He asks shyly, stroking her head, and Rowena nuzzles a little closer.

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."


	7. Chapter 7

Rowena steps off the plane with her game face on. She made a promise to a victim and she has to keep it, no matter how many horrible memories it may unleash. Waiting on the other end of security is a tall, tan man with a broad, strong face and build, easily identifiable as some sort of Hispanic if not specifically Puerto Rican.

"Cal!" She beams and speeds up to a trot to embrace her former partner, and he welcomes her with open arms.

"Damn, girl, you just keep looking better and better. Is Quantico really that good for you?" Cal nearly crushes her with his embrace and Rowena can feel the outline of his gun press into her hip.

"Looks like. You must be spooked, Cal, carrying into an airport." He sobers at the mention of business and reaches for her bag, but she glares and he backs off. Some things never change.

"You know this guy's hooked up with the cartels. Drugs muled up here straight from Mexico to him, rumors are he still manages it all from his cell. They're hot to get him back on the street." Nothing changes, it seems and Rowena feels herself falling back into the role of Vice detective a little too easily.

"Sounds about right. I guess they're not too happy to have me back here."

"Yeah, well, not many Vice cops are stupid enough to go after the biggest coke distributer in Detroit." She glares and Cal grins, knocking her on the shoulder playfully.

"I prefer crazy. What the hell else could I do, they forced gang initiation on her just because her brother's hooked up." The same fiery commitment that made Rowena good at her job makes her blood boil as she thinks about the case again, and Cal now rubs her shoulder for comfort. The bond between partners can never quite be broken and has been renewed already. They know each other's cues and can play off of each other as brilliantly as any pro tennis pair.

"Hearing is in three days. Figured I'd let you take a peek at the files again to reacquaint yourself. Look, Roe, I'm sorry to bring you back to all this, I know what it did to you last time." The last part is whispered and Rowena involuntarily shudders, not wanting to recall what drove her from the city in the first place. "Hey, don't be ashamed. We all burn out eventually. Why the hell do you think I transferred to Narcotics?"

"It's fine, Cal. I made a promise; you shouldn't have had to make me keep it in the first place." Silence falls, the kind that he knows is best to let her have, and the car ride is the same. The car pulls up outside of the diner Rowena and Cal ended their shifts at when they were on the job.

"Victim's Services got you set up with a motel. It ain't great, but it ain't bad."

"Okay, sounds good. Why are we here, exactly?" She's amused that the diner hasn't changed a bit. Still looks crappy, but hopefully the food is still as good as it always was.

"Thought you'd want a cup of coffee or a nightcap. At least that's the way it used to be."

"I stopped drinking, Cal." Rowena snaps, but immediately regrets it. He shoots her a long sideways glance, gauging what's changed in his former best friend.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply you were an alcoholic, you never let it affect your work and we both know that." They slide into booths, neither touching the menus because it would be pointless to do so when they have them memorized.

"I know. I still used it to numb the pain every night though. Now the job doesn't make me want to use it for that, happily. I drink maybe twice a week, with friends." It's not quite the truth but he doesn't trust himself enough to still know Rowena as well as he did once upon a time, and keeps his silence. Her phone starts going off in her pocket and she pulls it out, sending a text response to Spencer's ignored call. She's not aware, but she's beaming at the little reflective screen and Cal can't help but smile too.

"So who's the man in your life?" A blush lights up her cheeks before she knows what's happening and Cal grins. "I know that look, Roe, and you ain't had it in awhile. What's up, who is he?"

"You'll laugh."

"Probably will. Doesn't matter though, tell me anyway." They pause to place their order with a waitress Rowena doesn't recognize, making her inwardly sigh at the things that have started changing. She flips through camera images from a long, geeky night of Doctor Who and finds one of Spencer in her glasses with a goofy smile, and decides it portrays him just as well as any. Cal takes one look and starts laughing hysterically, making her blush darken.

"Spencer's a profiler with the Behavioral Analysis Unit. He's brilliant, awkward, and hilarious. Stop laughing at me!" Rowena's nearly burgundy now and Cal's laughter finally dies out.

"Oh, Roe, I'm so happy for you. I always knew you'd find a man smart enough for you someday. How long has it been?"

"Two months only, don't start jumping to conclusions just yet." She tucks the phone away and tries to push back the melancholy that wants to overwhelm her.

"You seem happy. I trust that." Spencer's text message back, an elaborate series of circumstances under which he demands to be contacted immediately (with a cute caveat of if she's alright with it), makes her giggle and Cal notes it. The move to Quantico was wise for her.

Dinner goes as it used to and Cal drives her to the motel, making sure she's comfortable and secure. It's just like old times, with him fussing over her a bit too much. It's understandable, Cal has three sisters and was raised by his mother and grandmother; he's always been protective of women, it's why he volunteered for Vice. That night, Spencer calls again but she doesn't want to talk, making the excuse she's tired. He's suspicious, but as he fingers his phone anxiously, staring up at the ceiling, he decides to let it go. He's terrified of a fight with the woman he may be falling in love with.

* * *

Rowena wanders out of the courtroom after her testimony, dazed and with a fierce migraine. She stumbles to a bench and falls into it, her hands shaking. Silently, Cal comes up and sits besides her, lending his shoulder and she leans against it.

"You did great."

"I looked weak." She mumbles, running a hand through her tangled hair.

"No. You looked like you felt Ann-Marie's pain and the panel could tell, I watched them. You did what you were supposed to. You gave her a voice when she had none." Her phone lights up and Cal sees the name flash across the screen before she makes it go dark. He hisses an old Spanish phrase his _abuelita_ used when he would mouth off and grabs her phone from her limp hands. "Talk to him, Roe. I know you haven't been. He cares so damn much about you, I can hear it in his voice." He sounds tired, frustrated, but always loving.

"You talked to him?" Cal chuckles, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and he kisses her clammy forehead. He's seen her stare down gang members, put down many man who thought just because he beat his wife he could beat her too, and even worse. It's always emotions that muck her up though.

"You're like another sister to me. You think I wouldn't check up on a man trying to get your heart? I found his number easy enough and we had a chat. I don't think I scared him too much." She snorts. "Alright. We're going to get you some coffee, some coffee ice cream…" Cal can practically feel her ears perk up. "And I'm going to drive you to the airport so you can get back to that well meaning boyfriend of yours." Rowena looks up at Cal with a resigned smile, knowing he's right.

"Depends. You buyin'?"

"Fine, fine, only because you're an emotional wreck." He's off the bench and halfway down the stairs, but she chases after him nimbly in her heels.

"You cry at the end of _The Proposal _every time, you punk!"

"Sandra Bullock is a beautiful woman who deserves to be loved!"

* * *

Spencer is nearly out of his mind. Rowena is in an enormously stressful situation and is definitely avoiding his calls. If being a profiler weren't enough make him crazy in this situation, being her boyfriend and getting the call from Cal would've done it. She needs him, he knows it, but for some reason she keeps shutting him out. He stews quietly in Quantico; this is what she goes through when he's gone, but she endures so he has to. When she's on the way home, he finally snaps and Spencer has the bus take him to the airport after work instead of home to meet her plane. He fidgets at the gate, pleased at least that his FBI credentials could get him past security to see her, and rehearses the speech in his mind.

Rowena has to accept he's part of his life now and he cares for her, and that part of that is the need to know if she's alright. All of his irritation goes out the window when he sees her. She's in old college sweats, free of makeup and her hair fastened back tightly; all of her old scars are on display, figuratively and literally. Little marks from acne and anxiety scratches, dark circles beneath her eyes, naturally reddened cheeks, but mostly it's the blank expression that grabs his heart. Most women use makeup to refine their natural beauty and hide flaws, and Rowena's no different, but her total vulnerability right now is just as beautiful.

"Rowena!" He shouts but it's not needed; her tired eyes have already found him and a shy smile lights up her face. As she watches him fidget, smiling too, she realizes that it was a mistake to not call him back. She nearly tackles him with her embrace and Spencer lets out a breath he wasn't sure he was holding and Rowena squeezes him tight before looking him straight in the eyes.

"I'm sorry. I should've called you. Detroit brings back bad memories and emotions I can't deal with and Spencer…." She sighs and Spencer pushes her glasses back up for her, studying her curiously. "I don't do well with emotions, I just don't."

"So let me help you." He answers softly, and she sighs. Afraid of pushing her too far, he releases her to take her bag and Rowena smiles at it.

"I can carry my own bag." Spencer awkwardly slings it over his lean shoulders and adjusts it until he can walk with it at the same time and hold her hand, but Rowena doesn't budge when he starts to walk.

"Rowena?" She's giving him that appraising look he knows all too well, the one she wears when she's not quite sure how she should react to something, or how she wants him to react.

"I can carry my own bag." Rowena says quietly and Spencer wouldn't have to be a PhD to know she's not entirely talking about a duffel bag.

"I know you can take care of yourself. But please don't begrudge a knight the chance to take care of his lady." The look passes and Rowena takes two long steps to catch up to him, standing on her very tiptoe to kiss his cheek, and the man doesn't blush this time. Instead, Spencer bends his long neck to kiss her, the warmth of the act after the harsh past few days swamping her with relief.

"Dinner tonight?" Rowena smiles when she regains her breath.

"Minimum." _Now_ he blushes.

* * *

A/N

For future reference, reviews would appear to make me update faster, no? Thanks for the love, and especially the input.


	8. Chapter 8

It's always nice when the BAU can actually see each other outside of work, though even if there is free time, Spencer has to be veritably dragged away from Rowena. The team does an admirable job of not prying, but Morgan can't take it. After a long draught of his beer, he slams the bottle down and points a finger at Spencer.

"You have given us absolutely no details of what's going down between you and your little lady and I for one have had enough of it!" That little prompt is all Garcia needs for a flood of curiosity to pour out.

"What's she like? What do you two do for fun? How long is it now?" Spencer blinks owlishly and takes a long draught of his whiskey on the rocks before responding, thinking carefully about how to respond. Work relationships are tricky.

"She's great. We read together, watch movies, and nearly three months." Hotch's lips twitch towards a smile and he watches Spencer with amusement, resisting the urge to start questioning the boy as well.

"Fine, I'll ask the question we all want to; just how well do you two know each other, and I do in fact mean in the biblical sense?" Garcia waggles her eyebrows, beaming at her favorite boy wonder as he chokes on the bittersweet liquid and JJ puts her head in her hands.

"I can't know the answer to that question." She groans but Spencer is recovered enough to fend for himself.

"No, no, you can know the answer because the answer is no! I mean, sure, we've slept on the same couch or in the same bed once or twice…" Rossi and Hotch exchange glances, Morgan whistles, and Spencer starts to get flustered. "But that's it! I swear!" Several sets of eyes just study him for a few seconds and Spencer curls up over his glass, pouting like a child. Garcia reaches across the table and pokes his cheek gently, once, twice, three times before he shoots a dark look her way and the redhead smiles brilliantly at him. Spencer can't glare in the face of her incandescent joy and finally grins, and the rest of the team relaxes.

"We're all thrilled for you, kid, chill out." Morgan says cheerfully and Rossi himself reaches over to rub Spencer's shoulder, proud of the boy.

"It's about time you found yourself a woman, Spencer. Cheer up, don't let your high school classmates get you down." The night goes on merrily and surprisingly, it's Hotch who volunteers to give him a ride home. Spencer's not quite sure why and is a bit nervous, but goes along with it. It's eerily quiet for long moments before Hotch breaks it.

"Relax. I'm not going to interrogate you, or warn you. You're too smart for that, I won't patronize you. As your boss, I do have to ask this next question though; did you file the paperwork?" Dating is allowed between co-workers in the FBI unofficially, mostly because the bean counters can't codify what a date is, but once a relationship ensues, it must be reported. As long as the participants don't work together closely, it's permitted.

"No." Spencer replies after long moments, running a hand through his "boy band" hair. He's trying his best not to push Rowena too hard or fast, lest he push her away, and that kind of request seems like the perfect way to do just that.

"You should at least broach the conversation. I can handle Strauss cracking down on me, but I don't want her to have a reason to come after you." Hotch's tone never changes, nor does his expression, but his dark eyes are soft on the young man when he glances over to see how he's faring. Spencer nods once slowly, then again.

"Alright."

* * *

There's something else bothering him. After the brief exchange in the airport, Rowena clammed up about Detroit and hasn't said a word since. Sure, he could call her former partner and get the answers he needs but he wants to hear from her. It's times like this he wishes that he were a little less gentle and could be firm with Rowena, but he can't bring himself to be anything approaching harsh with her, it turns his stomach to think of even raising his voice. Her phone calls are less frequent; she's a bit cooler than usual as well. It's killing him, but he can't make himself ask the questions he wants to.

Spencer calls her Saturday at noon, because she's always up by then. There's no answer. 1:00, same story. And 1:15, 1:30, 1:35. The bus schedule runs on the ten minute schedule and Spencer hops on the 1:40 to her house. He knocks his knuckles bloody on the door with no answer before opening it. Unlocked is strange too.

"Rowena? Rowena?" The lights are incredibly dim and he feels dirty for coming in when she's probably not home, but her car's there, and that's when he walks into the living room. Rowena is sitting cross-legged on the floor and two full bottles of good quality Scotch are directly in front of her. He recognizes her clothing as pajamas, and her hair is a fluffy triangle around her head. Her normally bright eyes are dull behind her glasses and he recognizes tear tracks down her cheeks.

It seems as though she hasn't realized he's there and Spencer doesn't blame her. He's felt that hollowness a hundred times, he's stared at a vicious little vial just like she's staring at those bottles. Spencer nearly trips over his own feet rushing around the couch and he shoves the bottles to the side, the loud clank finally jarring Rowena out of her trance enough to snap her gaze up to his just before Spencer envelops her in his gangly arms.

"Spencer, when did you get here?" She asks slowly, still coming out of it, and Spencer fights the urge to crush her with the force of the affection asphyxiating him.

"Why didn't you tell me? Why?" He whispers fiercely, rocking her back and forth and for a moment she sags in his arms.

"I haven't been drunk, hell, I haven't been tipsy since I left Detroit. I thought that since what made me drink is gone I could control it, and I could, but going back, testifying…" Her voice breaks and Rowena violently shoves him back and the gesture surprises him enough to break his hold on her. "I didn't want you to see me like this! Spencer, why are you here?" She jumps to her feet and starts to pace, walking back and forth at a disturbingly quick rate and Spencer rises to his feet, feeling old before his time.

"Rowena." He calls her name softly. She stares up at him, wide-eyed, and while he's relieved not to smell alcohol on her and see clarity at last in her gaze, the fear of judgment there turns his stomach with its familiarity. "Spencer, why are you here?" Rowena asks brokenly and when he smiles at her, it nearly stops her heart with the caring there.

"You were afraid I would judge you for being a former alcoholic?" Tears start to run and he tries to wipe them away and continue speaking but Rowena starts to ramble, her hands wrapping tight around his wrists to stop the motion.

"It's why emotions scare me, they take me back to the extremes that made me drink and you're so…." She sighs and it turns to a hiccup from hours of crying herself dry. "So wonderful, so caring, I didn't know how you'd react to something so awful and _stupid_ so I hid it and I hid me and I'm sorry, I understand if you walk out and never come back…" Spencer growls, growls deep in his throat in a very manly sound that's a bit disconcerting coming from her gentle knight, before kissing her in a way that matches that sound and her knees nearly buckle underneath her at it. Her heart is racing and so is his, and Spencer finally pulls away to say what he has to.

"Rowena, I was addicted to Dilaudid." Her dark brown eyes go wide behind her glasses and he pulls the frames off to see them better, nearly laughing now with relief that Rowena isn't upset with him. "I've been clean for nearly a year. I know everything you're feeling and everything you've felt. I'm not going to judge you, I'm not going to dump you. Rowena, I'll help you for as long as you'll let me." It explains so much but it doesn't, it's baffling, and Rowena stares at him with what is now innocent confusion.

"You, an addict? Really?" Spencer feels tears of his own trying to break free now but he smiles and reaches in his pocket for his chip, showing it proudly.

"Yes, me. I've been practically on my own since I was 8. I know why you don't want to be weak in front of anyone and take care of it all yourself, and how tempting it can be to just take a quick fix to make it all feel better without anyone seeing you break. I understand, Rowena. I do." There's a long pause as she tries to process what she's being told, and Spencer watches her carefully. It makes sense as Rowena considers it and he can feel the tension seep out of her.

"I didn't drink anything. Not today, not last week, not since Detroit. I wanted to, so badly. No detox, I was never that bad, but I still have the urge." She shakes her head, starting to smile at last and looks at him with what he would approximate as wonder and wariness.

"And you don't care? After only three months with me, you want to stay?" Spencer's eyebrows knit together with his own brand of naïve confusion.

"Rowena, you've rid yourself of what triggers your addiction. I face my trigger every day. I'm in the worst line of business for a recovering addict." It takes effort to not let the frog in his throat jump out and Rowena takes his hand, both latching onto the contact for comfort. "But I think we can help each other." That's not all he means. Spencer knows the astronomical odds of them finding each other (granted, addicts to something like alcohol within law enforcement are more common than most professions) and Spencer sighs, irritated with his inability to express himself.

"I think we need each other." She counters softly, and he recognizes the truth of her words immediately, doing the only thing he can think of and kissing her knuckles gently, one by one. Rowena shivers pleasantly but takes her hands from him, her playful demeanor back. "Coffee?" He chuckles, shaking his head at the oh so Rowena response to emotional outpouring.

"Yeah." She ties her hair into a knot at the base of her neck and makes her way to the kitchen after standing as tall as she can on the tips of her toes to kiss his cheek, whispering a soft "thank you" that tickles his ear. Spencer stays put for a moment, returning the coin to his pocket and it rustles against the form for official acknowledgement of a relationship between agents. His fingers grasp the paper briefly, but then move to put his phone on silent. Not now.

* * *

A/N

seriously. reviews are motivating. please keep up feedback and thank you for the reviews you've already given! Many thanks!


	9. Chapter 9

"It is not physically possible to be that uncoordinated, Spencer. It can't be. It's a Wii, for God's sakes, it's not even real baseball!" Rowena laughs, pitching another fastball that goes through Spencer's avatar's head.

"Well, it would seem reality contradicts that and- would you stop pitching so fast!" Even though Spencer is only a few IQ points above Rowena, she outstrips him pretty quick when it comes to physical activity. After a rollerblading disaster, the couple decided that perhaps video and board games are a better idea. Rowena is smoking him at baseball, after destroying him in tennis and bowling.

"What, can't keep up?" Spencer silently sulks in reply and tries a swing once more, futilely. All of the furniture in the room has been cleared away and two glasses of lemonade are half full beside each other on the table, sunlight from the back porch window filtering through them to cast shadows like robin's eggs on the table. Mild, pleasant spring has given way to a typically toasty summer and only the screen is pulled across to divide the porch from her living room.

Rowena looks over and sees him pouting, and decides to call mercy. She depresses the button on her remote to turn the Wii off and Spencer blinks when the screen goes out.

"Rowena, I wasn't serious." He points out, setting his remote aside. She shrugs lightheartedly and takes a long draught of her lemonade, walking into the kitchen with it.

"It's alright, Spen. Are you hungry yet? We haven't had dinner." The truth is that Spencer is a bit sensitive about his manliness, being a slender geek and all, and Rowena does her best not to injure his pride. Personally, she sees no reason to for him to be concerned, but men will be men. If there's anything being partners with a man's man like Cal taught her, it's that taking the extra couple feet to not injure a man's pride makes life so much easier.

"Sure. Do you want to order takeout?" She looks at him curiously.

"Um, don't you get enough of that stuff when you're out of state?"

"I, uh, don't want to make you cook for me again." Spencer mutters, fidgeting from Chuck Taylor to Chuck Taylor. Once again, his hand starts to play with a certain folded sheet of paper in his pocket. For a couple of four months, they've been forced into some pretty unusual situations with each other and its resulted in Spencer being utterly confused at what to label this.

"As if you make me do anything." He doesn't answer, looking away. "Spen!" His head snaps up and Rowena tilts her head at him. "Spencer, where were you? You just left me for a second." He sighs, looking at her carefully. It strikes him belatedly, and immaterially, that she looks incredibly young in denim shorts and a white t-shirt, but he snaps out of it again.

"Sorry, I was just thinking."

"About what?" Rowena asks again. Spencer doesn't answer, but sits on the stool and puts a hand to his forehead, lightly rubbing his temples. If there's one thing Rowena's gotten quite skilled at, it's recognizing when she's losing him.

"Ah!" He yelps when her hands start to massage his shoulders, and then begins to melt against the counter. "How are you so good at this?" Spencer manages to mumble, turning into a mewling kitten in her warm hands.

"I had back problems for a couple of years, and massages are great. You learn a lot from receiving them, actually. Now, what are you thinking about?" Her thumbs dig in particularly hard and he twitches, recognizing the gentle threat. He tries to think how to phrase his thoughts.

"You're like the cheerleader." Spencer lets out, then freezes, as do her hands.

"What?" She asks incredulously. He sighs, there's no going back now. One of his hands strays to cover hers and lightly squeezes her wrist.

"You're brilliant, hilarious…"

"Oh, God, don't start with the flattery again. Then I'll to reciprocate and you'll reciprocate more, and then I'll just have to kiss you senseless and then where will we be in this conversation?" Rowena grins when she feels a shiver roll through him, he's so easy to play with sometimes. "But just how awesome we are is not what's on your mind. Scroll down for me, dear." The rolling, kneading motions relieving his tension resume.

"Guys like me don't date girls like you." He murmurs, and Rowena's hands finally stop for good. She sits beside him to meet his eyes, but Spencer looks away, ashamed.

"Spen, please look at me." His warm whiskey eyes meet hers at last and she smiles at him, taking his hands and resting them on her knees. "I was just like you in high school. I guarantee it. I still am, actually, I just got my braces off and started dressing better. I'm an FBI accountant with thick glasses, for God's sakes. Society's standards just make a few more allowances for me because my skin cleared up and I finally slimmed down."

"That doesn't explain why you're with me." She sighs, deciding to take a different track.

"You're the profiler, Spencer. Why am I with you?"

"I don't want to profile you. I can't, I won't." Spencer says instantly. He can't open that dark door in his subconscious without unleashing a whole world of things better left at work. Rowena searches his eyes, and sees that something more is necessary.

"Hold on, I'll be right back." She darts upstairs and the moment she's out of sight, Spencer bangs his head against the counter three times. It seems as though his insecurity may be doing what he was afraid neediness would do instead. "Spen." He looks up and Rowena's gotten so close that he can smell her wonderful, naturally fruity scent all around him and she smiles, dangling a key chain from her index finger.

"What's that?"

"A spare key to my house; it's yours if you'll take it." His stomach drops out from under him at the gesture of faith. Rowena trusts him enough allow him into her home whenever he so desires. The back of his neck feels warm suddenly, the inside of his head is stifling and claustrophobic. His mouth is dry as the sun on the pavement when he tries to muster up words.

"I don't want you to do this just to make me feel better." Rowena chuckles and sits beside him again, cupping Spencer's baby soft cheek in one hand and he almost unconsciously nuzzles against it for comfort.

"Spencer, a back massage is to make you feel better. Coffee and tea are to make you feel better. A key to my house is none of those things. I want you to have this key because I trust you, Spen, and I think you need to be reassured of that. So how about you take the key, and I'll sign the form you've been carrying around like a safety blanket?" Spencer blinks, and she chuckles. Oh, it's a nice surprise to see _him_ speechless for once. "JJ and I are close, Spencer. You should remember that, having an eidetic memory and all."

"No, I know that, but why would she tell you?"

"I was terrified that you were waiting for the right moment to tell me something awful, or break up with me." He sighs. There's a lot of awful things he should tell her, but keeping his relationship with Rowena pure and away from the nightmare of the BAU is perhaps his first priority.

"I didn't want to push too hard, but…" Spencer pulls the sheet from his pocket and sets it down, and Rowena looks warily at him. "What?" She holds up the hand with the key hanging from her finger.

"Take the key, and I'll sign the form." Spencer finds only bottomless affection when he searches her, and it makes his stomach pleasantly squirm. For her part, she finds gentle warmth, and she has to smile at the endless gentleness of the tall, gangly man. It's one of the many things she's growing to love about him.

"Okay." His fingers wholly envelop the key and he slides it into his pocket as he pulls the form from the other. Rowena takes it and signs it neatly, sliding the thin packet back across the table to him.

"Are we alright?" She asks quietly, unsure why he's so stiff still.

"Are you my girlfriend now?" Spencer asks, beginning to smile a bit at last and Rowena lights up, a glow suffusing her skin. He can feel the same sentiment in him; this is what he's wanted, something official that he can hold onto when his insecurities threatens him.

"Yes." She kisses his cheek. "Now can we please do something fun?" A perhaps silly idea occurs to him and he nearly falls out of his chair to rush to the bookshelf. "Spen, what on earth are you doing?" He turns with a lovely, leather-bound copy of _The Canterbury Tales _by Geoffrey Chaucer clutched like a lifeline in his spidery hands.

"Who gave this to you?" Childlike joy makes him vibrate and she laughs.

"Um, my Literature professor in community college. She liked me and I liked her. She didn't get students who actually paid attention and enjoyed the material in a mandatory class all that often."

"Can I maybe read this to you?" He asks a little more calmly this time.

"Okay." She replies, a bit confused but not unduly. The couch gives out a weary creak when they flop on it and a few softer growls as Spencer and Rowena situate themselves. She sits beside him, but Spencer pulls her closer and she smiles as he does. He always has trouble asking for what she supposes could be qualified as cuddling, but no problem shyly taking it. It's an amusing trait, but she's very okay with it. Spencer folds his long, spindly legs underneath him and puts a pillow over his pointy knees, looking at her hopefully, and she takes the cue to stretch across his lap, resting her head on the arm of the sofa. Spencer immediately wraps one of his hands in her dark hair and nimbly flips open the book with his other.

"Are you comfortable?" Spencer asks, looking down on her fondly. There's so much he wants to tell her. Why he was addicted to Dilaudid, that their children would be predisposed to schizophrenia, that _he's_ predisposed to schizophrenia, so much that he's terrified to even think of broaching in conversation. But as he looks down at her bright brown eyes, smiling up at him, Spencer gets almost a supernatural sense that it will all be okay.

"Of course. Are you? Wouldn't be easier to read with two hands?" The hand in her hair gently strokes her scalp, his soft calluses tickling her and making her giggle. It's a bit odd that Spencer would request this, but Rowena finds it ridiculously comfortable and doesn't protest.

"It would, but, uh, I like your hair. It's soft." She rolls her eyes but ends up closing them as he begins to read. Spencer's brain power is enough that he can read the Old English while thinking, and his mind turns as he speaks. Whenever his mother would read to him, it was like a reorientation of reality towards what was best in the world, towards heroes and damsels and dragons. Rowena shifts her position and Spencer smiles; she looks so content and innocent. Of course he knows that she's seen nearly as much evil as he has, but there's still something pure about her mischievous nature and dark, shining eyes. "Rowena?" He asks suddenly, and those eyes flicker open. She was already dozing off, but the seriousness with which he's looking at her makes her sit up to put her head at his chest.

"Yeah, Spen?" Rowena murmurs, resting her head on his shoulder. He puts the book down beside them and kisses her cheeks, her forehead, her nose, then her lips; Spencer kisses her slow and sweet, but briefly. He pulls away but only a few hairsbreadths, his warm breath ghosting across her lips when he speaks again.

"I'd slay any dragon for you." He says fiercely, his hand in her hair still soft in its rhythmic strokes, and she can see that he needs her to understand it.

"I believe you." Rowena replies, planting a quick peck on the corner of his mouth, but then she smirks. "Let's be honest though, I'd save you from the dragon." He pouts.

"I'd let myself be taken by the dragon to save you." Spencer counters, starting to grin.

"No. You'd have your nose in a spellbook up in some ivory tower, and then a dragon would take you, and then I would have to kill it to get you back." He considers arguing but decides that kissing is a much better way to solve problems. After almost no debate, Rowena agrees.

* * *

A/N

I apologize if this is getting a bit angsty, but I feel like any story about Spencer has to be a bit angsty. Thanks for reviews! All are appreciated.


	10. Chapter 10

"Would you mind putting on more water for tea?" Rowena asks her boyfriend. She's stretched out on his couch, surrounded in spreadsheets and six different pens. Her suit jacket is tossed on an armchair, abandoned for one of Spencer's cardigans nearly an hour after work. Since cases have a nasty habit of stealing Spencer from her, it's been mutually agreed that it's a good idea for them to spend time together after work. Rowena drives, either to her place or his, and work ensues with only a minimum of play.

"No problem." He fills the hot water kettle without taking his eyes off of her, a feat he's long since mastered. She has a habit of borrowing his sweats, cardigans, work shirts, and Spencer does not mind one bit. The sweater is longer than even her skirt, and with her thick framed glasses, he's inclined to agree with her previous statement about being a nerd just like him. "How's the accounting going?"

"It's accounting, how do you think?" Rowena responds dryly. "How's your paperwork?" Spencer looks down at the letter filling with text to his mother and swallows hard.

"I will, uh, defer to your oh so apt response." He murmurs.

"Ha! Nice try, Rosenberg Brothers!" She jumps up, pumping her fist in the air like a character in her favorite anime but her papers go flying when she does. "Oh, damn it." Spencer chuckles from the kitchen and resumes writing, and Rowena comes in with an empty cup and a tea bag of Darjeeling between her teeth.

"Has your victory over misplaced decimals backfired?" Spencer offers up jokingly and she pouts. He smiles at the childish expression and starts to subtly tuck away the letter to his mother like he's done a million times around the team, but Rowena is too sharp.

"What's that?"

"Nothing." He answers, pulling an event report over the letter and folding his hands atop them. She sits beside him, examining him carefully, but he ignores it. He's always been this way, reluctant to point of defiance about his past. With a checkered past herself, she's very forgiving but she's given him details as he's asked, and Spencer doesn't return the favor. If she even hints at the reasons for the Dilaudid addiction, Spencer clams up. She's opening up to him, but he's not ready for the same quite yet.

"Spen?" She asks softly, her hand touching his elbow, but he jerks away.

"I said it's nothing." Spencer responds sharper than he intends and hurt instantly resounds in her dark eyes, but his fear of her knowing the truth after only five months overwhelms his desire to be honest. Unable to bear the sight of her hurt on her always expressive face, he turns away. Rowena's seat beside him suddenly feels cold.

"Okay." Rowena stands slowly and goes to the hot water kettle, confused at Spencer's sudden harshness. It's literally nothing she's ever seen from him before. Happily, her phone rings and Rowena beams when she sees the name. "Cal!" His existing discontent is magnified by the joy in her voice; selfish though it is, Spencer wants to be the only man who can make her sound so happy. "Yeah, I'm fine. Spencer is too." He winces at the hesitation in her voice. "Really? Sergeant? You're kidding! When's your promotion ceremony?" Rowena's practically dancing on her toes. "I'll do my best to be there, I promise. Okay. Bye, Cal." She hangs up the phone and turns to him, a smile having replaced the hurt he put there and it somehow enrages him.

"You look cheerful." He mutters and Rowena tilts her head at him.

"I assumed you heard. Cal's being promoted, I'm happy for him."

"How exciting." He says, utterly deadpan. Frustration with his inability to deal with telling her what he ought to and Rowena's close relationship with her former partner have combined to gnaw at his stomach, and Spencer feels a dreadfully familiar urge for a vial and needle. He should talk to her, he knows it, but he can't.

"Okay, what's your problem?" There's silence as Spencer considers the sundry answers for that question and Rowena feels her last nerve beginning to fray. "Alright, fine." Her papers rustle loudly as she packs them up and he watches her, frowning.

"Where are you going?"

"Down the block to the Beanery for some coffee." She's starting to get a little pissed off and space seems to be the best answer. She doesn't commit to not coming back by grabbing her keys from the counter, but the door slamming is a pretty good hint that Rowena is none too pleased. He stays seated numbly, unsure of what to do.

Rowena has no such problem, and her kitten heels click softly on the stairs of his apartment building on down.


	11. Chapter 11

She sits alone in a creaky leather booth at the old coffee shop, nursing a large steaming cup of coffee. Her papers are strewn about her and she frowns at them. When will they learn that no amount of creative accounting can hide from her red pen and sharp eyes. Rowena can't bring herself to take off Spencer's sweater though, despite the fact she's irritated with him. It's too soft and warm, and it smells like her favorite boy genius. Usually she's patient with his inability to talk but it's frustrating her to the point of being hurtful. Simply a letter, it looked like, and Spencer acted as though she'd gone through his underwear drawer. Hell, she has actually worn his underwear, so she's truly confused at what's going on. Her phone vibrates on the lacquered wooden table with another text message from him and Rowena looks away from it, furiously notating a graph.

"The text message says I'm on my way." Spencer slides into the booth across from her, knotting his hands together. He squirms in his seat, the way she's looking away from him confirming that she is as annoyed with him as he thought she might be. Not that she doesn't have a right to be, but it's the first time she's outright walked away from a potential confrontation.

"That's nice." She mutters, her pen flying across the paper.

"I'm sorry, Rowena. Please, look at me." The pen rests lightly against the table but she looks at her lap. "Rowena." She looks up, and he finds her dark eyes closer to unreadable than he's ever seen them. "Please, say something."

"I asked you not to lie to me, Spencer. If you can't talk about something, just say that, but don't lie to me, and sure as hell don't lie to me and expect me to be okay with it." Rowena says firmly, keeping her frustration tightly in check. Spencer sits numbly, knowing she's right but not quite sure how to say it. "I may not be a profiler, but I'm not an idiot. And I'd appreciate it if you didn't treat me like one."

"I know you're not an idiot. God, I know, but that doesn't mean I'm not one."

"You'll get no argument from me." Spencer nearly smiles at the familiar playful sarcasm this time, but knows he's only on his way to being forgiven.

"What were you hiding from me?" Rowena asks, and he finds his throat incapable of making sound. He looks away, unable to bear her scrutiny, until he hears a quiet sigh. "Fine."

"What?" Spencer looks back and is surprised to find something closer to peace than anything else on her features.

"If you can't tell me something, I'll respect that. But I'd rather a simple "I can't talk about it" than lies and lashing out. Fair?"

"Alright." He manages, unable to believe the mercy he's just been granted. She can see the relief and smiles, starting to pack her work back into its bag.

"Don't look so shocked, Spen. I'm not going to ditch you that easily. You'd think a profiler would notice I'm still wearing his sweater." Rowena points out, and Spencer blinks at just how right she is. "Nor would I have left my keys on your counter, nor my car in your driveway. Learn to breathe, sweetheart. You're worth far more to me than that." She looks up to meet his eyes and smiles. "I got mad, I got over it."

"Then why did you walk out?" Spencer asks, following her as she starts to walk out of the Beanery and Rowena takes his hand in hers, intertwining their fingers.

"Spen, if we don't get mad at each other, we aren't doing something right. Cut me some slack when I screw up and I'll do the same."

"You're inhumanly reasonable about this!" Spencer sputters and she laughs, kissing his cheek and lingering, her grip making him stop with her in the middle of the dimly lit D.C. street.

"I told you, Spen, I like you." Her eyes are warm even in the lack of light and her other hand comes up to stroke his cheek, the touch making him shiver. "I like you more than I'd care to admit, actually. That's a pretty good incentive to be reasonable, don't you think?" Her hair is a bit of a mess and Spencer instinctively reaches out to smooth it, unable to express just how goddamn grateful he is to have found this woman.

"If you say so." Rowena reads it all on his face plain as day and stands on her toes to kiss his nose, pleased to have her favorite genius back to his normal self, and resolved to find out just what is going on at some point.

"Now since I've been so reasonable, I think a reward is in order, hmm?" She hints, wrapping her arms around her clueless boyfriend's neck.

"Like what?" Spencer asks, living up to his label in her mind. Rowena chuckles, something alluring persuasive in the sound, and stands on her toes again to whisper in his ear. His face goes red and his knees wobble nearly imperceptibly, and Rowena laughs out loud. "Or not. Come on, let's go back. I should be getting back home." Spencer stands in the street for a moment, his hand and face gradually cooling off as he contemplates the full implications of her suggestion.

"Roe, are you serious?" He calls, and she grins over her shoulder at him before picking up her pace.

"I don't know, catch me and find out!" It's a fear he's not ready to face. A woman like Rowena, she's had to have been with men at least more attractive than he. To lose Rowena because of his lack of physical prowess is a thought that near paralyzes him with fear.

* * *

A/N Sorry for the late update, it's been a crazy summer. I'll be updating more often and hopefully longer, but I thought it was cruel to keep the cliffhanger going.


	12. Chapter 12

Most of the time, Spencer is able to keep his time with Rowena separate from the muck of his job. There are nights when he's quieter than usual, or begs off of their standing nightly arrangements of work and talk, but those are more unusual than not. His absences hurt as well, but Rowena is well used to them even if they aren't her favorite. Time goes by, slowly, and it's shockingly close to a year before they realize. Spencer manages to keep the secret of his mother from Rowena but only because she is also closed lipped about her parents.

Now, his cases are usually under a week, but a particularly gruesome killer in the heartland of Missouri keeps the nation riveted, Spencer for going on two weeks, and Rowena sick to her stomach for him. The bits and pieces of grisly details that make the news turn even the former Detroit detective's stomach, and she can only imagine her sensitive boyfriend around that muck.

When her phone rings, Rowena lunges for it and tries to keep her heart from dropping when she sees her former partner's face laughing on the screen instead of the stolen photo of Spencer sleeping.

"Hey, Cal." A deep chuckle rings through the phone.

"How are you, sweetheart?"

"I'm alright." They both know she's lying.

"I've been watching the news. Your boy wonder in that mess in Missouri?" She sighs and looks down, though Cal isn't actually here giving her that infernal knowing look.

"Yeah, and he's not answering his phone."

"I'm sure he can handle it if he's been doing it so long. Probably just distracted." Cal, at his desk in DPD, shakes his head as he says it. It was a lesson she never quite understood as his partner even; men don't want admit that they're hurting or scared, not to the women who care so much about them.

"Spencer is so sensitive and sweet. I- I can't imagine him investigating this. Seeing what he has to be seeing. I wish he'd answer his phone." Cal sighs across the line.

"Be strong, Roe."

* * *

When Spencer's phone rings and the number shows as Roe's former partner, cold nausea grips his stomach, for reasons other than the butchered women in color photos across his temporary desk.

"Detective Harris, is she okay?" His voice shakes and the nearby Rossi looks at him with obvious concern.

"It's Cal, kid. Look, I got no business messing with your relationship, but I have to say this. Are you listening?" Spencer imagines that commanding tone terrifies criminals. As it is, he finds himself standing up a bit straighter.

"Yes."

"She loves you. I don't really care if she hasn't said anything yet, I can just tell. I know we're men and men don't want their women to see them in pain, but Roe can tell anyway. You want to keep her safe from what you see, I understand that. But she knows and if you don't show it, or you don't talk to her, she has to imagine how its ripping you up inside."

"I don't mean to hurt her…"

"I know you don't, kid. But you are anyway. You can't talk to her right now, fine. But you better when you get back to D.C. Now catch that murdering son of a bitch and get back to Rowena in one piece." The phone clicks and Spencer feels oddly relieved.

"Spencer?" It's Rossi, sitting on the arm of his chair and placing a hand on his shoulder. "Everything alright at home?" Spencer looks up at him, pale as he realizes something.

"She loves me." Rossi smiles.

"Rowena tell you that?"

"No, her partner. Former partner. He said he can tell." Spencer flexes his hands, realizing they've gone numb.

"Focus on the case, Spencer. Then go hear it for yourself." Rossi departs and Spencer watches him go, courage welling up in him again. How could he forget what he has to return to?

* * *

"You're kidding me." It has to be at least 3 A.M. when the frantic pounding begins at Rowena's door. Bleary and confused, she rolls out of bed and pulls on her slippers, clicking the light on and glaring at even its soft yellow illumination. "Damn it, I'm coming!" The bun she went to sleep in has loosened and sent tendrils about her face, and her skin feels a touch too oily to be comfortable, but the knocks at her door are growing in recurrence and volume. Briefly Rowena considers changing from her pink and white striped pajamas, then decides to hell with it. "I'm here, what's the big deal?" Her voice dies off at the sight that greets her.

"Rowena." Spencer whispers weakly. To her dismay, she realizes he's _shaking _as he stands before her, clearly in clothes he's been wearing for at least one night's sleep. Dark circles absorb light below his tired eyes and his mouth is clenched tightly, fists shaking at his side.

"Oh, baby…" The inane nickname escapes her but only because he looks so young and in need of comforting, and her arms wrap him up tight. Spencer nearly collapses at the warmth of her embrace, clutching her to him as if afraid she'll disappear.

"I should've answered the phone, I'm-" His voice breaks and Rowena gently strokes the back of his head.

"Don't apologize, Spen. Come in." She leads him in like a child and Spencer takes the spot motioned to on her couch, curling his knees into his chest and taking ragged breaths to control the sobs he wants to let free.

"Rowena…" He tries to speak again and fails, but Rowena smiles with nearly tangible tenderness.

"Shh. You don't have to say anything if you aren't ready." Her lips warmly touch his forehead briefly. "I'm going to make tea, I'll be right back." Spencer knows his eyes must widen with horror at the thought of her leaving him even for a moment and she recognizes it. "I'll be right back, I swear." The next kiss to his forehead is longer and warmer, and her hand brushes his cheek. Spencer stays frozen in place as tea is made and two hot cups placed on the table.

Rowena sits across from him and watches him with soft, deep eyes that he can practically feel the affection radiating from. Knowing she wants him to do only what he needs, Spencer edges closer and pulls the overstretched elastic from her hair, sending the thick tangled waves pouring to her shoulders. With a hollow sob as the tears start to finally escape, he buries his face in the mess of her hair that smells of fruit and comfort as he draws as close as he possibly can to her body. "Rowena!" He cries out, unable to say anything else, and her arms instantly encircle him again.

"It'll be okay, Spencer. It'll be okay." She rocks him back and forth as the boy genius weeps with abandon, tears strangling her own voice at his obvious torment and her own powerlessness to help. "I'm sorry I can't do anything."

"No." His long fingers clutch at her back through the thin pajamas. "This is enough." He says so softly she nearly doesn't hear.

"Alright." It's long hours before Spencer is calm enough to sleep and sleep he does, still wrapped inside her arms in pink striped pajamas, their soft snores blending together.


	13. Chapter 13

Rowena wakes up first the next day, still entangled with Spencer on the couch. She sighs softly at the sight of her sweet boyfriend sleeping like the dead. She knew there had to be acres of such pain hidden inside him, but last night was an outpouring she had not expected. Rowena smiles nonetheless; finally, he's opened up to her. He didn't say anything, but he didn't have to. Letting her hold him as he cried out his pain was hard, but for the first time the agent felt as though she had finally helped him in some tangible way.

Slowly, gradually, she slips from his embrace and covers him with the throw from the couch. He murmurs something unintelligible and buries his head into the couch cushion. She laughs quietly and goes upstairs, not wanting to wake him.

"JJ?"

"What's up, Roe?"

"Can you inform HR that Spencer and I won't be in today?" Her friend's smooth chuckle echoes through the crackly line.

"Okay." Rowena laughs at the implication.

"No, nothing like that. If Spencer doesn't take a mental health day, he's going to crack, and he won't take a day unless I make him. I have plenty of time off stored up and I'm sure he does too. It should be fine."

"It will be. Take care of him."

"I'll try." Rowena replies. She ends the call and goes into her room, changing out of her pajamas at last. It's nearly noon already. Since its going to be a casual day and it's nearly December, she pulls on jeans and a loose grey sweater. No anticipating departing her house for too long, Rowena pulls on slippers too. Her hair is a lost cause at two days and counting without being washed, so a loose ponytail seems the best choice. For some reason, Rowena finds herself wanting to look pretty for Spencer and applies tinted moisturizer and a bit of mascara.

"You're always so beautiful." So concentrated on the tiny lash brush in her hand, Rowena didn't sense Spencer standing in the doorway and watching her. He smiles, looking infinitely tired but still better than last night. "Really. Even last night. And now, you just look a little enhanced. Beautiful." She sets down the makeup and turns to her boyfriend, dark eyes still concerned.

"Are you okay, Spencer?" His cheeks turn a little red but he nods.

"I think so. Thank you, for everything."

"Good. I called you off work already." His whiskey brown eyes widen and she smiles. "Yup. You're taking the day off. It's called a mental health day, and you're going to spend it with me." She stands on her toes to kiss his cheek sweetly and heads down the stairs. He watches her go, shocked, before a smile overtakes him as well.

"You sure that's the best thing for my mental health?" Spencer calls after her, joking and a laugh rings up the stairs as he follows after her.

"Very funny! If you want coffee and breakfast, you better be nice to me!" He pauses, standing behind her in the kitchen now.

"You're the most amazing woman I've ever known." Spencer says quietly. Rowena turns to look at him, blinking twice.

"Thank you, Spen. That's sweet of you to say."

"I mean it. You're-" He swallows hard and decides to take the plunge. "Um, I think I love you." Her eyes widen as Spencer Reid stands there giving her that confused but still slightly pleased with himself grin. "I don't know if there's any way to be 100% certain of that. I'm not even sure if my definition of love is the same as yours, or someone else's. But I, uh, I think I do. In fact, I know I do, even though I don't know how." Rowena comes toward him with unsteady steps, tilting her head to look up at him curiously.

"Say it again?" Rowena asks softly, taking his baby soft face in her hands. Spencer, scared for some reason, kisses her palm before whispering into it.

"I love you, Rowena." He mumbles, unsure of the reaction she's having until her hands grip his face a little tighter and pulls him down for a ferocious kiss.

"I love you too." She replies in a voice practically vibrating with joy and Spencer beams at the final affirmation.

"Really?" His voice breaks even as he smiles and Rowena laughs.

"Yes. I love you." She says firmly as she stands on her toes to kiss him again. Some sort of imperative wells up in Spencer and starts to strangle him so he does what it demands; her bathroom is directly adjacent to her bedroom and so as they kiss with more fervor than ever before, Spencer starts pulling her that way. When her knees hit the back of the bed, Rowena realizes what he's up to and sits on the edge, finally pulling away. "Spencer?" He looks at her with a fight between confidence and desperation in his clouded whiskey eyes.

"Rowena, I'm ready but…" Spencer swallows hard and she smiles, standing up and wrapping her hands in the bottom hem of his button up.

"Don't be nervous. I love you. I love your body. I love everything about you." He stares into her eyes and nods, and Rowena presses her lips to his again. It distracts him as he gets lost in her coffee flavor again as suddenly his shirt falls away and her warm, bare hands lovingly run from his slim waist to his shoulders as she pulls him closer.

"Rowena…" He mutters nervously. She shakes her head, a half-smile lighting her features.

"You're in better shape than you think, babe. Come on." Rowena takes his hands and places them on the hem of her sweater. "I know you're anxious but it's been a while for me too. I'm yours, my dear dweeb." The sweater comes off and Spencer loses his breath in short order, and it comforts Rowena about her own body. The bra is not the sexiest, simple black cloth with basic straps, but she's gorgeous and she's his.

"You're beautiful." She runs her hands through his hair and smiles at her delightfully awestruck boyfriend.

"Touch me, Spencer." Spencer can't help but obey.


End file.
